


1A

by tinzelda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Pre-War, Protective!Bucky, Skinny!Steve, Steve Rogers has something to prove, Stucky Big Bang 2016, Wartime, together but not together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7888009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda/pseuds/tinzelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky are together before the war. Kind of. Bucky sure wants to be—he knows how he feels about Steve. Steve, however, hates that Bucky has to take care of him, so he can’t give himself over to the relationship. Steve desperately wants to enlist, but when he finally gets that 1A stamp, it isn’t the validation he thought it would be. When Bucky sees Steve transformed, he thinks he’s lost him for good, but Steve needs Bucky to look after him more than ever. He drives himself hard to feel worthy of being Captain America and keeps just enough distance between them to drive Bucky crazy. In other words, Steve still has something to prove, and Bucky has the patience of a saint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1A

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you from the bottom of my heart to [poppyfields13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/poppyfields13/pseuds/poppyfields13), who came through for me yet again, reading another one of my marathon stories, giving insightful suggestions, and catching my dumb errors. Even more amazingly, for the past few days she’s been reading scenes piecemeal each night as I scrambled to finish this story up for the big bang deadline. Thanks a million, my dear! You’re the absolute best.
> 
> AND...
> 
> I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am about the art I was so lucky to receive as part of the [Stucky Big Bang](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sbb2016) this year. The amazingly talented Gassada ([here at tumblr](http://gassadaarts.tumblr.com/)) and substeverogers ([here at tumblr](http://substeverogers.tumblr.com/)) picked my story, and I can’t believe how gorgeous the pictures turned out. Thank you so much for the beautiful artwork, both of you!

**I.**

It was even harder than usual for Bucky to pull himself out of the nest of blankets on his bed and into the chill air with Steve lying next to him. But he’d learned from experience that it was better to give Steve a little space after they’d spent the night . . . sharing a bed. Whether it was from lack of sleep or a genuine belief that what they’d done was wrong, Bucky didn’t know, but Steve was always prickly, the morning after.

Steve had been unusually sweet last night though, turning his head obligingly with a huff of laughter so that Bucky could get his mouth on his neck. That kind of thing was always a gamble for Bucky—he never knew whether Steve would grudgingly allow it or if it would bring things to a screeching halt. Sometimes Steve would shove him away, saying, _Stop, it’s not like that_. And Bucky would think, _Why not?_ But he never asked.

Bucky got a fire going in the stove. He was careful to be quiet, hoping Steve would stay asleep a little longer. Just until the room warmed up.

As Steve shook off sleep, Bucky took inventory: a few little coughs, but not a wheeze or a rattle, just clearing his throat. A little bit of a sniffle, but nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed like a good day.

Steve pushed the blankets off and sat up, his hair a mess. Bucky’s fingers itched to run through it and smooth it down. As Steve stretched—both arms over his head and his neck craning up—Bucky stared at his throat. There was faint bruising on one side. Seeing the evidence of his own sucking kisses made a desperate heat rush all over Bucky’s body. He turned away before Steve noticed.

Another cough forced its way out of Steve’s chest. He glared at Bucky as if daring him to say something, but Bucky knew better. He went to the dresser and, before Steve stood up and put his bare feet on the chilly floor, threw a pair of socks at him. He was allowed to do nice things for Steve as long as he did it in a teasing way.

The balled-up wool hit Steve in the chest and fell, one sock ending up draped over his thigh, the other on the floor. Steve scowled, but Bucky could tell that it took effort—his mood was improving whether it wanted it to or not.

As Bucky busied himself with making breakfast, he asked, “You working today?” He was careful to keep his tone casual and conversational, but Steve must have seen right through him, because when Bucky turned, Steve’s eyebrows threatened like storm clouds.

Bucky pretended not to notice, determined to avoid an argument. He started cracking eggs in a bowl and beat the hell out of them with a wooden spoon. “I finished off the aspirin last night. I thought if you were going to Greenwald’s today you could pick up some more.” A peek over his shoulder showed him Steve’s bare back as he bent over to pull on a pair of pants over his boxers. Bucky wanted to run his hands over all that skin, but he turned to the stove, pulled the frying pan down from its hook, and dumped in the eggs.

Steve crossed the room to stand at Bucky’s side while buttoning his shirt. His hair was still a mess, hanging down over his face. Bucky’s hand actually lifted, wanting to push the bangs out of Steve’s eyes, but he changed courses, grabbing a spatula from the towel on the counter where they’d left it last night to dry.

“What’s hurting?” Steve asked.

“Hm?”

“The aspirin,” Steve said. “What’s hurting?”

Bucky turned his head to look at Steve. The intense look of concern on his face almost made Bucky laugh. Steve could frown like that and ask how Bucky was feeling, but God forbid Bucky point out that Steve seemed to be coming down with something.

“It’s nothing,” Bucky said. He’d strained his shoulder a little lifting trying to lift a huge crate at work yesterday when he should have asked one of the other guys to help. That pain would be gone in a day or two. What really hurt was the distance Steve put between them. _Why will you let me suck your dick but not kiss you?_ Bucky thought about it every day, wanting to grab Steve’s shoulders and demand an explanation. Or better yet, just lean close and kiss him. Once he saw how nice it could be, he’d stop objecting.

Steve coughed again, and this time it took him several minutes to get it under control. When he finally stopped, his face was red, and his eyes were watering.

Bucky tried to hold his tongue, but he just couldn’t do it. “Maybe you should take it easy today, since you don’t have to work. That cough sounds—”

“I’m fine,” Steve said. His mouth was a hard line in his still-flushed face.

They ate their breakfast in silence.

 

*****

Steve meant to go out and buy another bottle of aspirin that day. He knew how hard Bucky worked—hated that Bucky had to do more than his fair share to keep them financially afloat, so he tried to do as much as he could, like running errands and keeping the apartment tidy. But after Bucky left, while Steve washed the breakfast dishes, he had to stop three times because of his coughing. When he was finished, he was worn out, though he hated to admit it. He sat down on the couch, thinking a few minutes of rest would be enough, and the next thing he knew, he woke up in the hospital.

He had a vague memory of Bucky coming home. He’d lifted Steve off the couch and carried him to his bed like he didn’t weigh a thing. Steve hated being toted around like a kid. Like an invalid. But he’d been too dazed by fever to form a coherent sentence.

“Look who’s awake!” a cheerful voice said.

Steve didn’t respond. He didn’t remember the trip to the hospital at all. He imagined Bucky lifting him out of a cab and rushing in through the heavy front doors. Steve let his eyes fall closed, wondering how long it would take before Bucky got tired of looking after him.

“How are you feeling?”

Steve opened his eyes to find a nurse with a round, pink face leaning over him. She wore a broad smile, and it didn’t seem like the stilted, fake smiles most nurses plastered on their faces when they thought they should try to be pleasant. She said, “Your fever broke last night.”

Steve opened his mouth, but his throat was too dry to let out more than a rasping croak.

“Let’s get you a drink, huh?” She slid one hand behind Steve’s back and propped him up while she held a glass of water to his lips.

Steve drank greedily.

“Better?”

Steve gave a small nod, still gulping at the water.

“All right,” she said, taking the drink away before Steve was finished with it. “You rest now, and the doctor will be in to see you when he can.” After setting the glass down on the small bedside table, she fluffed up the pillows before settling Steve back onto them. “Your friend brought this, if you think you’re up to reading.”

She held up the novel Steve had barely started before he got sick. Steve tried to reach for it, but he could barely lift his arm.

“Here you are.” She tucked the book against his side. “But don’t read too long. You still need your rest.”

Steve wanted to fling the book at her—it was obvious he was too weak to turn the damn pages much less hold the book upright.

“Your friend’ll probably be in sometime after lunch. He’s come every day.”

 _Every day?_ Steve dreaded to guess how long he’d been sick. 

*****

Steve woke up to the sound of Bucky’s voice, loud and echoing in the hospital hallway. “No, I’m not his brother. I’m a friend. But I’m the closest thing to family he’s got.”

A woman’s voice answered—probably one of the nurses. Steve couldn’t distinguish her words, just the soothing tone.

“Of course I’ll take care of him. But that also means working so I can keep a roof over his head and food on the table. He’s not ready to be home all day on his own.”

Steve heard the nurse’s soft murmur again. Then Bucky appeared in the door of the ward, frowning fiercely. But when he saw Steve, he smiled.

“Hey, pal, how’re you feeling?” He came to Steve’s bedside and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you awake.”

Bucky had come to visit the day before, but Steve had been too tired to fight off his feelings of humiliation and frustration. He knew it was stupid and unfair to feel angry at Bucky, the only soul in the world who gave a damn about him, and he didn’t know how to hide it, so he’d feigned sleep. Bucky’d sat next to Steve’s bed for an hour, waiting patiently. Right before he’d left, his fingers had brushed Steve’s cheek.

When Bucky reached Steve’s beside, he nudged Steve’s shoulder with his knuckles. “I get to spring you from this joint tomorrow.” “I’m sorry.”

“What’re you sorry for? Don’t you wanna go home?”

“I’m sorry I’m so much trouble.”

Bucky laughed it off. “Don’t be an idiot.”

When he came to pick Steve up the next day, Bucky had a cab waiting right out front.

Steve stopped dead on the sidewalk, knowing the fare would eat into what little extra cash they had on hand. “We can take the bus.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t even turn to look at Steve. Maybe he just hadn’t heard—Steve’s voice was still weak and raspy.

“Bucky,” Steve said more loudly. “We don’t need a cab.” But a coughing fit kept him from arguing more. Bucky didn’t even give him a look that said _I told you so_. He simply opened the door of the cab and waited silently until Steve huffed out a sigh and climbed in.

After Bucky gave the driver their address, he sat quietly, staring out the window. Steve studied his profile.

Bucky’s expression was grim. He was probably thinking about how he was going to pay for all this: the hospital bill, the cost of the medicine—Steve hadn’t even seen what they’d prescribed because Bucky’d tucked the papers into his pocket as soon as the nurse had handed them over. And there would be another visit to the doctor in a week or so, to make sure Steve’s lungs had cleared.

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve whispered.

“Will you quit it with that stuff? It’s not like you chose to get sick.” Bucky’s leg shifted to the side and bumped Steve’s knee. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

*****

Bucky came home to an empty apartment. He didn’t let himself worry—not yet. First, he checked the fire escape, where Steve sometimes sat to draw in the sunshine. Next he went down the hall to the bathroom they shared with the other tenants on the floor.

Steve was there, already dressed after a shower, wiping the fog off the mirror so he could comb his hair. Though Bucky hadn’t really been upset, something in his belly relaxed to see Steve looking so good. His eyes were bright, and his cheeks were slightly flushed from the warmth of his shower. He didn’t seem tired out at all.

Bucky leaned on the door jamb. “There you are.”

Steve turned and smiled. “Here I am.” Bucky wanted to say something—to celebrate that Steve had recovered. But if he did, Steve’s smile would vanish. “I’m starving,” he said instead. “I was gonna heat up the last of that soup Ma made, but maybe you’re ready for something more interesting?”

Steve laughed. “I don’t think there’s anything interesting in the cupboards.”

“I could run out to the market.” Bucky should have thought of stopping on the way home from work, but he’d been eager to get home and see Steve.

“I was going to go tomorrow,” Steve said.

Bucky kicked himself again. He shouldn’t have brought it up. Now Steve would wear himself out, dragging a bunch of groceries home.

Steve tucked his comb in his pocket and pulled his towel down off the shower bar. “We’ll find something.”

There were a few eggs left in the ice box, but Bucky’d eaten scrambled eggs three out of the four nights Steve had been in the hospital. “Is there flour?” he asked. “We could make pancakes. Aw, but we don’t have any syrup.”

“We have jam,” Steve said, pulling a jar out of the cabinet. “Mrs. Davis’s Christmas present.”

“That’ll work.” Bucky put the soup on the stove to warm while he mixed up the batter.

Steve ate two bowls of soup and more pancakes than Bucky, then collapsed on the couch, not even complaining when Bucky cleaned up the dishes without him. Bucky turned on the radio before joining Steve on the sofa. He picked music on purpose. The news always got Steve riled up, wanting Bucky to get into a heated debate about the war, even though they pretty much agreed about everything.

Steve had his sketchpad next to him, but it sat untouched, tucked between his leg and the arm of the couch. After grabbing the newspaper, Bucky took the seat all the way at the other end of the couch. It was kind of an experiment: Steve had been unusually affectionate since he came home from the hospital—always sitting close and not complaining when Bucky suggested sharing a bed to stay nice and warm.

Bucky could almost believe that Steve had missed him, and he wondered what Steve would do about the empty cushion between them. He tried not to hope that Steve would scoot over until their shoulders touched.

After a few minutes of listening to the music, Steve turned, leaning back against the arm of the couch and tucking his feet up. Bucky buried his nose in the paper, trying not to look like he was waiting for something.

Steve’s legs slowly straightened, inching his feet closer to Bucky until they settled against his thigh. Bucky kept his eyes on the newspaper, afraid if he showed how much he liked Steve’s stupid feet on his leg, Steve would pull them away. When Bucky finally got up the courage to sneak a glance, Steve was sound asleep, hugging his sketchpad to his chest.

Bucky folded the newspaper and set it aside. He didn’t need to hide now, so he looked his fill. Steve’s thick eyelashes. The tempting curve of his lower lip. Moving slowly, Bucky wrapped the fingers of his right hand around Steve’s ankle, feeling the bones through his sagging socks. An unbearable tenderness swelled up inside of Bucky—God, he was a sap. But he was almost weak with relief that this illness hadn’t been the one to take Steve away from him.

He sat there, just staring at Steve, until he must have drifted off too. He woke up well after midnight and shook Steve awake with the hand still wound around his ankle. “C’mon, Steve. We should get to bed.”

Steve was usually grumpy when he first woke up, but this time, he smiled. It made Bucky’s heart go faster for a few beats, until he reminded himself that Steve was still recovering.

After brushing his teeth, Bucky toed off his shoes and kicked them under the bed so he wouldn’t trip when he got up in the morning. As he unbuttoned his shirt, he turned toward the dresser for clean pajamas, but he noticed Steve watching him in that particular way—it was the expression he wore when he was planning to slip into Bucky’s bed later that night.

Only this time, it looked like Steve wasn’t going to wait until later: he stood up and crossed the narrow space between their beds. Bucky froze with his hands halfway down his shirtfront, his heart pounding.

Steve planted one hand in the middle of Bucky’s chest and shoved him backward. His calves hit the side of the bed, and he sat down hard. Steve sank to his knees, shuffling forward with his hands sliding up Bucky’s thighs. He was gazing intently at Bucky’s face.

_by substeverogers_

 

Bucky felt like he should object. Steve wasn’t ready for this yet. He needed more time to get better. Then again, he hadn’t seemed at all worn out after his shower, and he’d eaten like a horse at dinner.

Steve moved his hand from Bucky’s thigh to his crotch. There was no way Bucky was going to argue when Steve was this eager.

Steve rubbed with the heel of his hand until Bucky was hard, straining at the front of his pants. His eyes had fallen closed, and he forced them open. Steve was smiling slyly. When he saw that Bucky was looking at him, his eyebrows shifted, making little worry lines form between them. Bucky wanted to smooth them away with his thumb.

Bucky let himself lean forward until his face was pressed to Steve’s shoulder. His collarbone pressed uncomfortably against Bucky’s nose, so Bucky turned his head, tilting it until his mouth and chin were brushing against Steve’s neck.

Steve’s hand stopped moving. “Bucky?”

 _Dammit_ , Bucky thought. He shouldn’t have tried something like that so early on. He slowly sat up, hoping there was still time to backpedal. But when he looked up, Steve wasn’t frowning. He was still staring at Bucky, and his face was pale.

“Steve?” Bucky said. “Are you okay? You look—”

“I’m fine,” Steve said, averting his eyes. He grabbed Bucky by the back of the neck and yanked him in, until his face was mashed into the crook of Steve’s neck. Every muscle in Steve’s whole body was taut, like he was about to jump up and flee.

Bucky knew it was a risk to try anything more, but he couldn’t resist, not after the way Steve had pulled him close—he’d never done that before. So Bucky slipped his arm around Steve’s waist.

Steve drew in a shaky breath, and his hand started moving over Bucky’s dick again. It was more encouragement than Bucky’d dared to hope for. He shifted his position slightly, so that his face wasn’t pressed so tightly against Steve, letting his lips trail over the skin of Steve’s neck. Steve gasped—he liked it. But that didn’t necessarily mean he would allow it.

Bucky waited and, when Steve didn’t shove him away, pursed his lips in an actual kiss, just below Steve’s ear. Steve went still but didn’t object. Bucky slid his mouth over the hinge of Steve’s jaw, then across his cheek. He was terrified—why hadn’t Steve put a stop to it? He’d never let Bucky get this close before.

At the corner of Steve’s lips, Bucky stopped. And Steve turned his head—a fraction of an inch, turned towards him, and their mouths met.

Bucky was too surprised to enjoy it. Just a hint of strawberry jam sweetness on Steve’s lips before he pulled away. Bucky could feel Steve’s gaze on him, so he kept his eyes closed and waited, heart beating fast, until Steve kissed him again. It was different this time, a lighter touch, and then Steve’s mouth opened, inviting Bucky’s tongue to venture inside—just a quick darting movement before Steve pulled back. He didn’t go far, and his panting breaths were warm against Bucky’s lips.

“Bucky—”

Bucky was afraid Steve was going to argue, to tell him _it’s not like that_ , so he cut off the words with another kiss. He held nothing back, pulling Steve closer with one hand clamped on his ass, and Steve let him do it, tilting his head back.

Now recovered from his surprise, Bucky savored the moment. As always, Steve was pushing things along, trying to open the button on Bucky’s pants, but Bucky wrapped both arms tight around Steve until there was no space between them. He slowed the kiss down, gliding his tongue slowly between Steve’s lips. Steve made a whimpering sound when their mouths finally parted. His hand was trapped between their bodies, and he yanked it free, wrapping that arm around Bucky’s neck and lifting his chin to be kissed again.

Bucky knew he shouldn’t let it go to his head that Steve liked it so much. And just as he reminded himself of the thousand ways this could go wrong, Steve pulled away. Bucky fought off disappointment, but Steve was reaching for his fly again and bending down. Bucky could count on one hand the number of times Steve had given him a suckjob. It should have made him crazy for it, but right now, he wanted the intimacy of Steve’s mouth on his. He grabbed Steve by the shoulders and sealed their mouths together.

After a dozen lingering kisses, he pulled Steve up onto the bed, tumbling flat onto his back and guiding Steve above him, straddling his hips. Steve propped himself up with one arm and reached with the other to unbutton Bucky’s shirt the rest of the way. Bucky wrestled his way out of it, then made quick work of Steve’s buttons and shoved his shirt off too before grabbing his shoulder and tugging him down into another kiss.

Steve’s whole frame gradually relaxed into the kiss, which got wet and messy. Bucky snaked his hand down Steve’s back and into his pants. Steve liked having his ass grabbed, and Bucky would do anything he could think of to keep Steve kissing him like that.

Steve let out a moan the first time Bucky squeezed, so he shifted his hand, hoping for better grip. His fingers brushed into the cleft of Steve’s ass, and Steve froze, gasping into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky stopped too, sure that he’d pushed things too far, but Steve’s lips closed around Bucky’s tongue, sucking hard. He pushed back with his hips, encouraging Bucky’s fingers to explore.

Careful to move slowly, giving Steve plenty of time to tell him to stop, Bucky pressed a little harder, rubbing a tight circle. It made Steve groan—a rumble deep in his chest.

Bucky was rock hard now, his dick trapped awkwardly inside his pants. He used his free hand to open his fly, sighing as his dick strained free of the fabric, then shoved that hand down the front of Steve’s pants to stroke him slowly.

He wanted to fuck Steve—had dreamed about it a million times—and how could he not think of it now, with Steve rocking his body against Bucky’s fingers and moaning into his mouth? It was stupid to even imagine it. Steve would never let him do it. But Bucky used to believe that about kissing too, and now Steve couldn’t seem to get enough of Bucky’s mouth on his.

The next time Steve rocked his hips backward, Bucky lined up his forefinger and gently pushed inside—just the tip. A shudder traveled over Steve’s body from head to toe, and he threw his head up, arching his back to urge Bucky deeper. Bucky didn’t want to hurt him—he knew you were supposed to use something slippery, but Steve sure didn’t seem to be hurting.

“Don’t stop,” he hissed out, and Bucky tentatively slid his finger a little farther in.

Steve fell on Bucky then. Bucky yanked his hand out of the front of Steve’s pants, hoping to get their dicks lined up, but Steve was already thrusting hard against Bucky’s thigh, his ass clenching tight around Bucky’s finger. Bucky could feel the changes in Steve’s body as he got close—tight, so tight—and imagining that tight heat around his dick made him come with a sharp cry, shoving up against Steve’s belly. Steve was still rutting against Bucky’s leg—one, two hard thrusts, and he came too. Bucky could feel the wet heat of it seeping through his pants as they lay tangled together, panting. 

*****

Steve woke up with Bucky’s arm draped over his back and cringed. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable. He was warm, pressed against Bucky’s chest the way he was, and the loose-muscled feeling from the night before lingered. But it had been stupid to let things go so far.

He’d always resisted kissing Bucky. And it hadn’t been easy—Bucky’s mouth drew Steve’s eye unless he was careful to fix his gaze on something else. And the other things they’d done. . . . Steve was lost now. Beyond hope. This thing between them—it was supposed to be an in-between kind of thing. Not quite real. Bucky liked girls, and someday, he’d find a keeper. And Bucky deserved somebody who didn’t drag him down. Somebody who wasn’t sick half the time and eating up whatever small savings Bucky was able to scrape together.

Bucky’s face was mashed against Steve’s shoulder, so Steve felt it as much as heard it when Bucky drew in a deep breath as he stirred. His arm tightened where it was slung across Steve, and he nuzzled against Steve’s skin, his whiskers scratchy. He nudged Steve onto his side and snuggled up behind him before drifting off again with a light snore.

Did Bucky want to fuck him? Steve’s face went hot, but after last night, and with Bucky’s dick now poking at the back of his thigh, it was all Steve could think about.

Steve didn’t know how to feel about it. He thought about it sometimes, when he was alone. When he touched himself. Sometimes he used his own fingers, imagining what it would feel like. But that was different, just daydreams. When Steve thought about it as something they might actually _do_ , he couldn’t even imagine it.

Bucky stirred again, and Steve disentangled himself, climbing out of the bed before Bucky was fully awake. “Steve?” Bucky lifted his head. His hair was a mess.

“Time to get up,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky let his head fall back onto the pillow and groaned. Then, after a few seconds, he dragged himself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed. He rubbed at both eyes with the heels of his hands. “But you don’t have to be up.”

“I’m going in today.”

Steve had steeled himself for a fight, but, though Bucky’s mouth twisted at one corner, he didn’t say anything. The lack of argument made Steve grumpier than he would have been if they’d just had it out. From the look on Bucky’s face when he walked out the door, he didn’t feel much better.  

*****

Steve was a little distant for a few days, but Bucky’d long since learned to expect that. Every time they fooled around Steve seemed to draw back for a while, like a pendulum that had swung as far as it could in one direction and now was falling away. And it was worse every time they jumped forward. After the cool autumn night when they’d progressed from only using their hands to Bucky giving Steve a clumsy suckjob, over a month passed before Steve came back to Bucky’s bed.

The things Steve had let Bucky do—God, Bucky had to stop thinking about it. He was on his way home from work. The last thing he needed was getting a tent in his shorts out on the street remembering the heat of Steve’s body around his fingers. His breathing harsh in Bucky’s ear. The way his moans reverberated in Bucky’s chest. Steve had shaken apart right on top of him.

So Bucky was trying to be patient. He tried not to look at Steve too much and reined in the casual affection that passed for normal between them. No arms around Steve’s shoulders. No ruffling Steve’s hair. But he didn’t like the feeling that Steve was avoiding him, so rather than head straight home, Bucky turned his steps toward the drug store.

Through the big picture window, Bucky could see Mrs. Greenwald at the register, her knitting needles moving in a blur. He pushed the door open, making the bell jangle, and she looked up and smiled at him. “Ah, so it doesn’t take Steven being sick to make you visit.”

Bucky wanted to head straight for the back and see Steve, but he liked Mrs. Greenwald. He paused by the counter and nodded at the ball of pale blue yarn. “You’re hoping for a boy?”

The Greenwalds were expecting their first grandchild any day now. Bucky hadn’t walked into the drug store once in the last several months without hearing about it.

Mrs. Greenwald laughed. “I just like to be prepared.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a round basket. Inside was more blue yarn, but she tucked her hand in among the skeins and pulled out a tiny sweater, pale pink. “After my three boys, I’d love a little girl to spoil, but as long as the baby’s healthy—” Her brow suddenly furrowed, and her eyes cut sideways, back to the soda counter where Steve worked, as if she were afraid that wishing for her grandchild to avoid Steve’s sickliness was in bad taste.

Bucky forced a smile as he turned and made his way toward the back of the store. He knew Mrs. Greenwald didn’t mean anything by what she’d said. The very fact that it had occurred to her that Bucky might take offense at her innocent remark proved how kind-hearted she was when it came to Steve.

It had been her idea to offer him a job in the first place: Bucky’d come in when Steve had pneumonia last winter and while waiting for the prescriptions to be filled had let it drop to Mrs. Greenwald that Steve had lost yet another job because of missing too many days. She and her husband were understanding when Steve was too sick to make it to work, getting their son David to fill in, and they paid him better than the job deserved. Not that Steve didn’t work hard. In addition to running the soda fountain, he helped keep inventory in the pharmacy, drawing up orders for medicines.

At this time of day, the counter was usually empty. People were thinking about dinner, not malteds. Bucky could usually sit and talk with Steve while he tidied up, and then they’d walk home together. But today, there was a customer seated at the last stool in the row. He was an older guy—maybe forty—with dark brown curly hair and wire-framed glasses. There was a leather satchel on the counter next to him, and near it a thick book open to a page somewhere near the middle, but he was ignoring his reading. Instead, he was gazing at Steve.

Bucky had stopped in his tracks without even realizing he was doing it. He made himself take the last few steps and sit down at the opposite end of the counter. He couldn’t help watching the guy out of the corner of his eye. He was staring with his elbow on the counter and his chin propped in his palm while Steve wiped down the shallow shelves stacked with tall milkshake glasses and the oval bowls for ice cream. When he finished, he smiled shyly as he turned around—he didn’t even notice Bucky—and the guy got flustered, sitting up straight and fidgeting with the straw in his mostly empty glass.

Steve had his chin ducked down and peeked up at the guy through those damned eyelashes of his. The flush on his cheeks made his eyes look that much bluer by contrast. “What else can I get you?”

The guy’s mouth fell open before he answered. Not that Bucky blamed him. For all his awkwardness, Steve was irresistible when he wanted to be. But it was all a big lie: if that guy wanted Steve because he seemed meek and shy, he’d be in for a surprise. Steve was downright demanding, taking what he wanted without so much as a by your leave. It was Bucky who was tentative, always having to walk on eggshells and wait for Steve to let him know what was okay and what was off limits.

“Maybe a cup of coffee?” Steve said.

“No, no.” The guy tore his eyes away from Steve and fumbled with his book, stuffing it back into his satchel. “I—thank you, no. I should go.” He patted his pockets until he found his wallet, dropped several bills on the table, and grabbed his bag. After one last hungry leer at Steve, he scurried away.

It was only then that Steve noticed Bucky. His face turned a deeper shade of red. “Bucky. Hi.”

“Hi.” Bucky refused to ask who the guy was. “I was on my way home. Thought I’d swing by.”

Steve’s answering smile was tight-lipped. “You want a milkshake?”

“Depends.” Bucky watched Steve’s face slowly turn back to its normal color. Who was that guy? Why was Steve so embarrassed about Bucky seeing him? “How much longer till you can leave?”

“I told Mrs. Greenwald I’d stay till closing. David has a big exam tomorrow, so he’s not coming in.”

And Steve could make a little extra money to make up for being out sick—Bucky was sure that was part of it. He didn’t think Steve should have come back at all today, much less taken on an extra shift, but he knew exactly how much Steve would like hearing any opinions on the subject.

Bucky studied Steve’s face. He didn’t actually look all that tired, and maybe if he stayed and earned a little extra cash, he’d feel less prickly.

“I’ll just head home then.” Bucky searched for signs of disappointment on Steve’s face, but there were none. At least he didn’t look relieved to be getting rid of him.

“Okay,” Steve said. “I won’t be too late.”

Bucky was half a block away when he noticed the guy from the soda fountain unlocking the trunk of a black Hudson parked by the curb. He dumped his satchel into the trunk and slammed it shut, but he didn’t head around to the driver’s side. Instead, he slipped his keys back in his pocket, returned to the sidewalk, and started walking. Bucky followed him for the next five blocks, but he didn’t visit any other shops. If he was going so far, why didn’t he just drive?

After a few more blocks, the character of the surrounding buildings shifted. Instead of tenements and storefronts, they were passing warehouses and garages, but Bucky still followed. As the atmosphere grew seedier, he started to have an inkling of where the guy was going. There were rumors about a few bars down here—Bucky’d heard about them and been wildly curious, but he’d never been brave enough to come see for himself.

Bucky stood for a long time, staring at the front of the building the guy had entered, smoking one cigarette after another. While he waited there, a few customers ducked inside. All the fellas looked normal enough. That shouldn’t have been a surprise—Bucky of all people should have known that a guy didn’t have to look like a fairy to want to do stuff with other men.

Once he was out of cigarettes, Bucky made himself start walking. He wandered a lot, thinking, but he still beat Steve home. He sat at their rickety table, picking at his dinner of warmed-up leftovers. When Steve walked in, he looked exhausted. Bucky wanted to rush over to him, take his jacket, and get him to sit on the sofa with his feet up. Steve got one look at Bucky’s face and read it like a book. He scowled, and all the rest of that evening, he didn’t say a word.

Steve stormed around the tiny apartment, throwing something together for his own dinner, which he ate on the couch—he wouldn’t even sit with Bucky at the table. Then he dragged out the ironing board, pressing a shirt to wear to work the next day. He banged the iron down on the stove each time like he was hammering nails. The best thing to do when Steve was in a mood like that was ignore him, so Bucky went to bed early.

Steve’s bad mood lasted the night, so when a pretty blonde caught Bucky’s eye on the way to work the next morning, he slowed down to smile at her.

“Bucky?” she said. “Don’t you remember me?”

Bucky studied her face, and suddenly he recognized her. “Mike Campbell’s little sister?”

“Yeah.” She gave him a brilliant smile. “Jeannie.”

“Right, of course.” Bucky remembered that she’d always had a crush on him when she was a little girl. “Jeannie. How are you? How’s Mike, and your folks?”

“Everybody’s fine,” she said, still beaming at him. “How about Becky? Did she marry that boy she was seeing?”

“The Kerner kid? No, she cut him loose years ago.”

Jeannie nodded. “Mike’s married now. He and his wife are expecting a baby in the spring.”

It was strange, hearing news like that. It made Bucky feel like life was passing him by when he heard that his old school friends were getting married and having babies. While he and Steve were. . . . Well, they were hopeless, that’s what they were.

Bucky put on his most charming smile and took a half step closer to Jeannie. “How about you?” he asked. “You married?”

She laughed. “No. I only just graduated last May.”

“Oh yeah? Well, congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“You working now?”

“Yes, I’ve got a job in a secretarial pool downtown.” Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, I’ve gotta go, or I’m gonna miss my bus!”

She might have dashed off down the street, but Bucky caught her wrist. “Hold up there. I don’t want to let you rush off and not see you again.”

She turned and smiled at him shyly.

“How about you let me take you out dancing?” Bucky shifted his grip until he was cradling her hand in his. “We can catch up.”

“Okay,” she answered breathlessly.

“Friday night?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven. If you think your folks won’t mind sending you out with an old man like me.”

“Oh, Bucky, you’re not old.” She wore the same dazzled expression she’d worn when she was about ten years old, gazing up at him when he came by to fetch Mike for baseball practice.

“You’d better go catch your bus now.”

“Oh! Oh, right!” Just before she turned the corner, she turned back to wave.

“Hey, wait!” Bucky called, chasing after her. “Do you still live with your folks? Same house?”

She laughed. She was even prettier when she laughed. “Yeah, same house.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “See you Friday.”  

*****

Bucky always made a show of it on nights when he was going out with a dame. He dressed in his best and made sure his hair looked just right. Steve never asked Bucky not to go, though hoping Steve would get jealous was probably the main reason Bucky did it. While Bucky stalled with his comb in front of the mirror hung over the dresser, Steve sat on the other side of the room at the kitchen table with his sketchbook. Bucky couldn’t tell if he really was absorbed with his drawing or faking so he didn’t have to watch Bucky get ready to go out.

When Bucky called out a cheerful goodbye, Steve didn’t even look up from his paper. He mumbled something over his shoulder and went right back to drawing.

Bucky sighed as he walked down the steps, but his mood improved as he made his way down the street. It was a beautiful evening, even if it was getting colder. Without Steve next to him, without worrying that he’d catch a chill, the brisk air felt invigorating.

Jeannie invited him into the house when he knocked, and he went inside to say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Campbell. They were happy to see Bucky—clearly they approved, even if Bucky was years older than Jeannie. Mrs. Campbell showed him Mike’s wedding picture in a silver frame. His wife was a real looker, with big dark eyes and thick curly hair. Mr. Campbell asked after Bucky’s parents, and it was all so easy. If Bucky wanted a steady girl—if he wanted to settle down and get married—he could do a lot worse than Jeannie.

He was pretty sure he could do it—make Jeannie fall for him, stay on her parents’ good side. Hell, Mr. Campbell owned a business, and Mike was a nice guy but not much in the brains department. Not that Bucky wanted to spend his life working in a hardware store, but Mike probably wouldn’t be able to manage the place on his own, and Mr. Campbell might be eager to put his son-in-law in as a partner once he got older and wanted to retire. Bucky could imagine an entire life with Jeannie laid out in front of him, and it wasn’t a bad prospect at all.

He took Jeannie out dancing, and they actually had fun. She was a pretty good dancer, and once she overcame the awe of her lingering schoolgirl crush, she was nice to talk to—way smarter than her brother. Then the music slowed, and the dancing couples shifted closer, wrapping their arms around each other. Jeannie’s head sank onto Bucky’s shoulder, and she sighed happily.

It should have been a perfect moment. A lovely romantic scene. But all Bucky could think about was Steve. What Bucky wouldn’t give to hear a happy sigh like that coming out of Steve’s mouth, lingering cough or no.

Jeannie tucked her hand in the crook of Bucky’s elbow as he walked her home. People smiled at them as they passed on the sidewalk, and Bucky knew they made a good-looking couple. When they got to the Campbell’s front porch, he had to stop himself from saying _Let’s do this again sometime_ , because that’s what you were supposed to say when a date went well. And this one, by all objective standards, had gone very well. Jeannie was a sweet girl. It made Bucky feel like a heel to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek and rush off down the street before she’d even stepped in her front door.

Bucky didn’t head home right away. He didn’t want to face Steve and his damned drawing. Instead, Bucky strolled in the opposite direction. He pretended he was just wandering, but his meandering route finally brought him to the shadowy doorway across the street from the bar where he’d followed Steve’s adoring customer. Just like last time, Bucky lit a cigarette and watched the men heading into the bar.

It took him almost an hour to gather his courage. He threw aside his cigarette—only half smoked—and strode across the street. The guy at the door gave him a onceover, smiled, and raised a questioning eyebrow. Bucky wasn’t interested. When he went inside, he noticed a few more appreciative glances, but he pretended not to see. He found a dark corner to wait for his pulse to stop racing.

There was music playing, but it was quiet. The place was too small for dancing anyway. The bar ran along one wall, leaving only a narrow walkway between the backs of the men sitting on the stools and the men leaning against the opposite wall, chatting, nursing their drinks, and studying every fella who walked by.

Bucky ventured over to the bar to buy a beer, then returned to his shadowy corner. He watched a tall man with sandy hair and freckles approach a dark-haired fella at the bar. Their exchange didn’t take long—the fair guy leaned down to whisper in the dark one’s ear, and a second later they were squeezing past the other patrons at the bar, headed for the rear of the room. Bucky craned his neck so he could see where they were headed: a doorway covered by dark curtain.

There was a room in the back. Bucky’s heart started pounding again.

He scanned the room and saw another pair head for the curtain, casual as can be. Bucky could find someone too. _What would I even say?_ But even as he pondered the question, he caught the eye of a guy leaning against the wall. The guy smiled and jerked his head in the direction of that curtained doorway. Bucky wouldn’t have to say a thing. He could smile back. Or nod, or just start walking toward the back. He knew the guy would follow.

But Bucky averted his eyes. He stared blindly into the crowd, praying that the guy wouldn’t approach and try to talk to him.

After a few agonizing moments, Bucky dared to peek back at the guy. He wasn’t bad looking: a little taller than Bucky and lanky. The guy smiled again, and panic gripped Bucky’s chest until he realized the guy wasn’t smiling at him. He must have found another target. The jerk-of-the-head routine was more successful this time, and the guy pushed himself away from the wall and headed toward the back, not even sparing Bucky a glance. He turned when he reached the doorway, reaching out to hold the curtain aside for a guy wearing so much pomade Bucky could see the dim light reflecting off the sheen of his almost-black hair.

Bucky stared at the curtain, trying not to imagine what it was like back there. Was there any privacy? He pictured an intricate warren of quiet alcoves and dark corners. Or was it just one big room where you could see other people, hear their stifled groans? Grateful for the shadows, Bucky put both hands in his pockets, arranging his half-hard dick more comfortably in his boxers. Did anyone ever kiss in that back room? Bucky heard Steve’s voice in his head: _It’s not like that_.

Bucky turned on his heel, suddenly desperate to get out of there, but he caught sight of a fella coming in the door that didn’t look like all the rest. He was short, and his collar gaped around the slim column of his neck. As he moved slowly through the crowd, he looked around nervously. The men he passed ignored him—no appreciative stares like the ones directed at Bucky the second he walked through the door—and Bucky felt indignant on the guy’s behalf.

Bucky watched the guy slip between two other customers to place his order at the bar. While he waited for the bartender to bring his drink, he tried to catch the eye of the guy sitting to the left, but he pointedly turned his back. The bartender set a glass on the bar, and the little guy took a big gulp. It was his expression that Bucky couldn’t resist: the same mixture of hurt and determined anger that passed over Steve’s face when someone underestimated him. Before Bucky knew what he was doing, he was crossing the floor and planting himself directly behind him.

“Hi,” Bucky said.

There was no response.

Bucky glanced around him, wondering if anyone noticed his overture had been ignored, but no one was paying any attention. A seat opened up two stools away, and Bucky swooped in to claim it before anyone else noticed. He didn’t sit down though. Instead, he stood behind it and looked over to catch the guy’s eye.

“You want to sit?” Bucky asked.

It wasn’t exactly smooth, but the guy’s eyes widened in pleased surprise. He nodded, rounded the guy sitting between them, and slipped onto the stool, his arm brushing Bucky’s chest as he brushed past. He was close enough that Bucky got a whiff of the clean, spicy scent of his aftershave.

He sat at an angle rather than facing the bar, sneaking peeks at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. He kept his head ducked down shyly, and with his bangs hanging down over his eyes, Bucky couldn’t really see his face to guess what he was thinking.

“I’d buy you a drink,” Bucky said. “But I see you’re already set.”

The guy nodded and picked up his drink to take another big gulp, then set it down carefully on the scarred wood. Bucky took a sip of his beer and reached past to set it on the bar, pressing close. The guy looked up then, so Bucky got a good look at him for the first time.

He didn’t look like Steve, not really. His hair was maybe parted the same, but it was much darker. He had grayish-green eyes and a turned-up nose. His frame though—Bucky knew just how it would feel to slip his arm around those narrow shoulders. He could imagine the sharp jut of hipbones under his thumbs.

Bucky tried to smile, though he knew it must look strained. The guy smiled back, then his chin dipped down again.

“I’m James,” Bucky said.

“Paul,” the guy said without lifting his head. But then he fell quiet again.

“Paul,” Bucky said. “Nice to meet you, Paul.”

Paul smiled. Bucky could see it in the movement of his cheek, though he didn’t look up.

Leaning close, Bucky lowered his voice. “I’ve never actually been here before.”

He’d hoped that admitting his lack of experience would help, and it sure seemed to. When the guy looked up again, his smile was more genuinely friendly. “Really?” His gaze shifted to fix on something over Bucky’s shoulder. “You seem to be popular already,” he said grimly.

Bucky craned his head around to see a big beefy guy at the end of the bar staring at him. While Bucky watched, he lifted his beer to his mouth and took a drink, moving his lips obscenely around the neck of his bottle before shooting a lewd grin in Bucky’s direction. Bucky managed to turn away before he snorted—he didn’t want to insult the guy, but how could he not laugh?

Paul laughed too. “You don’t want to . . . ?” He let the sentence trail off when Bucky shook his head.

“Not with him.” Bucky said it plainly, too anxious to let this drag out.

Paul stared up at Bucky, his mouth hanging open a little. But he didn’t answer.

Bucky couldn’t think of anything else to say. He’d made things pretty plain, and he wasn’t going to embarrass himself. He had a feeling Paul was willing, and if he wasn’t, Bucky would escape and go home. He’d been brave enough for one night.

“Do you mean you want to—?” Paul cut himself off and looked at the doorway to the back room.

Bucky’s dick jumped at the thought of it, but the unknown territory behind the curtain was too daunting. “I’d rather go somewhere else. If that’s okay.”

Paul let out a breathy laugh. He was gazing up at Bucky, dreamy disbelief in every line of his face. Bucky felt a little guilty. He knew what he was doing. It was the same thing he’d tried to do with Jeannie: using this guy’s admiration to soothe his hurt feelings, to boost his ego.

“We—We could go to my place,” Paul stammered. “It’s not far.”

“Yeah?” Bucky fought to keep his voice even. “That would be great.” As he reached for his beer glass, he let his other hand settle on Paul’s back, just above his waist. Even through the fabric of his jacket, he could feel the knobs of Paul’s spine.

Paul took a deep, shaky breath. He grabbed his glass from the bar and drained it. When he slid off his stool, the length of his body pressed all along Bucky’s front, and Bucky let his hand wander, settling briefly on Paul’s stomach, before he took a step back.

The man sitting on the stool just to the right looked over at them. He took in Paul’s slim figure, then quirked one eyebrow at Bucky. Bucky gave him a humorless grin, wishing he could wipe the doubtful look off the guy’s face, but not wanting to draw attention to it when Paul didn’t seem to notice. He was already heading for the front door. Bucky took one last swig from his beer and headed after Paul.

Once they were outside, Bucky caught up with Paul and walked next to him with both hands stuffed in his pockets. The streets were deserted. Their footsteps seemed too loud, and Bucky was relieved when Paul slowed and pulled a key out of his pocket. Bucky glanced up at the nondescript brick building before following Paul up the stairs.

Paul’s apartment was even smaller than Bucky and Steve’s. Paul invited Bucky to sit down, but there wasn’t even room for a sofa, just a wrought iron bed pushed flat against the wall with a few pillows lined up to lean against. Bucky knew there was no reason to be coy, but he couldn’t seem to make himself sit on the bed.

“You want another drink?” Paul offered as he hung his jacket on a hook by the door.

When Bucky didn’t answer, Paul turned and looked at him, the slightest of frowns creasing his forehead. Bucky crossed the few feet between them, took Paul’s jaw in both hands, and kissed him. Paul’s hands gripped at Bucky’s arms, then slid up over his shoulders to wrap around his neck. Bucky put his arms around Paul’s waist and pulled him closer. When their bodies met, Bucky felt Paul’s dick, hard against his leg.

Bucky lifted his head to catch his breath, then bent for another kiss, sliding his mouth away from Paul’s lips and down over his neck. And it was good at first—Paul letting out pleased little humming sounds and pushing his hips forward to rut against Bucky’s thigh. Bucky slipped one hand down to squeeze Paul’s ass. He was so skinny he didn’t even have a pleasing little curve like Steve, but he let out a low moan and pushed his hips harder against Bucky’s body.

Paul lifted his chin when Bucky tugged at his tie and started working at his collar button, but he wasn’t really _doing_ anything—just reacting to Bucky’s movements. Maybe he was too nervous to do much, like he was afraid Bucky wouldn’t like it.

But Bucky was used to Steve—never afraid to grab at what he wanted—and Paul’s timidity left him at a loss. Did he not really want Bucky? It was obvious that most of the guys at the bar ignored Paul because he was small, so maybe he’d only gone with Bucky out of desperation? No, Bucky’d seen the desire in Paul’s eyes when he’d suggested leaving the bar together. He wanted this. He just wasn’t a pushy bastard, like Steve.

Bucky lifted his head and pulled away to look at Paul. His head was still tilted to one side from Bucky’s attention to his neck, and his eyes were closed. After a few moments, he seemed to realize that Bucky had stopped, and his eyes sprang open.

“James?”

Bucky tried to smile. Paul smiled back, and his eyes fell closed again. He pushed up onto his toes to press his lips to Bucky’s, and Bucky tried to kiss him back, but his head was filled with Steve.

Paul pulled away and started backing toward his bed, pulling Bucky along behind him with one hand. He was gazing up at Bucky, stars in his eyes, smiling shyly. Imagining Steve looking at him like that was almost enough to keep Bucky going. But when Paul sank down on the mattress and reclined onto a pillow, Bucky couldn’t make himself sit down next to him.

Paul’s smile faded. “James?”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmured.

Paul visibly deflated, his whole posture shifting into dejection, and Bucky felt a rush of guilt.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky made himself sit down—he wasn’t going to run out of there without explaining. But he didn’t sit too close. “It’s not you.”

Paul let out a disgusted huff and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Part of me really wants to,” Bucky continued.

There was no response.

“I just—” Bucky reached out, tugged at Paul’s arm, and then took his hand. He looked surprised at the gesture. Bucky decided he deserved the truth. “I’m in love with someone else, and I thought. . . .” Bucky shook his head. “But I can’t do it.”

Paul’s hand tightened around Bucky’s. It was unexpectedly comforting. Bucky squeezed back.

“You can’t tell him?” Paul said.

Bucky forced a smile. “I think he knows.”

Paul didn’t say anything else, and Bucky was grateful for the quiet. They sat like that for a few minutes, not talking, until Bucky realized Paul probably didn’t want him hanging around if they weren’t going to do anything.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky pulled his hand out of Paul’s grasp and stood up clumsily. “I’ll stop bugging you.”

“You’re not bugging me,” Paul said. “But I understand.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. But he wasn’t sure what Paul thought he understood.

“Maybe I’ll try again.”

“Excuse me?”

Paul shrugged and gave Bucky another one of his shy smiles. “I might go back to the club. This late, sometimes guys aren’t so picky about who they go home with.”

Bucky didn’t like hearing him say that—like he could only get attention from someone who was desperate, but from what he’d seen in the bar, maybe there was truth in it.

Paul surprised Bucky by laughing. “Hey, don’t look like that. It’s your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You’re the one who got me all hot and bothered, then—”

Bucky cut him off. “Okay, sorry.”

But they grinned at each other.

Bucky ended up walking Paul back to the bar. Maybe it was silly, but he didn’t like the idea of Paul on the streets so late at night on his own, especially near a bar like that. He watched Paul cross the street, and just before he went through the door, he turned and gave Bucky a jaunty little wave. Bucky waved back, then turned and walked slowly home. 

*****

Steve wasn’t waiting up for Bucky. Not exactly. He just wasn’t sleepy. But the later it got, the more he wondered where the hell Bucky was. Steve rolled over in his bed and craned his neck to see the clock. There was no way Jeannie’s parents would allow her to be out past midnight, so Bucky must have gone somewhere else after walking her home.

When Steve heard Bucky’s key in the door, he fixed his gaze on the book he’d picked up in hopes of distracting himself. He didn’t look up until Bucky crossed the room and was standing right by the dresser and, even then, waited a few seconds before lifting his eyes from the page, hoping it looked like he was finishing up the paragraph he was reading.

“Hi,” Steve said.

Bucky returned the greeting, but immediately turned to the closet to hang up his jacket and tie.

“Did you have fun?” Steve asked.

Bucky froze in place for a split second before he continued unbuttoning his shirt. “Yeah, it was okay.” He pulled off the shirt and stuffed it in the hamper. “The dance hall was hot as hell. I’m gonna take a shower.” After grabbing some clean pajamas from his dresser drawer, he was gone.

Steve tried to turn his attention to the book, but he couldn’t help picturing Bucky down the hall, the shower spray running over his body. He would come back with his wet hair combed back from his forehead, smelling of shaving soap. His skin would be warm from the hot water.

Just imagining it was enough to make Steve hard, and he rubbed one hand over his dick through his threadbare pajamas. He could take care of himself. That might be wiser, considering the mood Bucky’d been in when he came home.

Steve closed the book and set it on the windowsill that served as his nightstand, then slid one hand inside his pajama pants. The drag of his fingers felt good, and he let his hips rock up into the sensation, but it wasn’t what he wanted. After a few minutes he pulled his hand away with a frustrated sigh and rolled onto his side. He would wait for Bucky.

When Bucky got back, he didn’t even glance in Steve’s direction. He hung up his towel and shoved his bundle of dirty clothes into the hamper. He went back to the light switch by the door but paused before flicking it.

“Mind if I turn off the light?” he asked.

“Sure, go ahead.” “It’s okay if you’re still reading.”

“No,” Steve said. “I’m done.”

In the darkness, he heard Bucky cross the room and climb into bed. Once the rustle of sheets stopped, Steve padded across the few feet between their beds. His eyes were starting to adjust to the dark, but he could see only vague outlines. He reached for the pale shape of Bucky’s face, and his fingertips brushed Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky didn’t react, so Steve sat on the edge of the mattress and ran his hand down Bucky’s neck to rest on his chest. Bucky didn’t move, and Steve paused. Bucky always jumped at the chance when Steve was in the mood.

Steve decided to ignore Bucky’s strange stillness. He nudged at Bucky’s hip with his leg until he shifted over so that Steve could lift up the covers and lie down next to him. But Bucky didn’t put his arm around Steve, didn’t press close. He was distracted. Or bothered by something, and it didn’t take Steve long to guess what it was: the guy at the soda counter.

Part of Steve wanted to explain. His mouth was open to apologize before he stopped himself. If he said he was sorry, it would be like admitting too much. Jealousy and promises—whatever they had between them, there wasn’t room for that kind of sentimentality. If Steve started explaining, it would only make things more complicated.

Besides, it wasn’t Steve’s fault the guy hung around so much. Maybe Steve had been flirting a little—he could admit that, but it was just because the guy always left Steve good tips. It wasn’t like Steve would ever do anything with him. Steve batted his eyelashes, and the guy blushed and stammered, but he felt like a big shot and left a fat tip. They both got something out of it. But Steve didn’t want to explain that to Bucky either. It wasn’t exactly something he was proud of.

So instead of talking, Steve shoved up close and pressed his lips to Bucky’s. There was a terrible moment of doubt—the slightest beat of hesitation—before Bucky tilted his chin to seal their mouths together, and the lump in the pit of Steve’s stomach melted away. He shoved his hands up under Bucky’s pajama shirt to feel his shower-damp skin.

Steve kissed Bucky for a long time, until the last bit of tension left his shoulders. Then he pulled away to whisper in Bucky’s ear. “You didn’t bring Jeannie Campbell home this late.”

“What?” Again, Bucky’s whole body went rigid with discomfort, though not as much as before. “Oh.” He sighed. “No.”

After a few more kisses, Steve slipped his hand into Bucky’s pants to play with his dick. Its girth felt good in Steve’s hand, and he wanted to focus on that. But he couldn’t stop wondering where Bucky had gone.

He rubbed his thumb over the tip of Bucky’s dick, smudging the leaking slickness all over the head. “So where’d you go?”

“I just—” Bucky broke off and swallowed. “I just walked around for a while.”

“Walked around?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “C’mon, Steve, just—”

“Why?”

“I just wanted to be alone.”

“You wanna be alone?” Steve pulled away, but only because he knew Bucky would grab him and tug him close.

“Shut up and c’mere.”

“Wait.” After giving Bucky a quick peck of a kiss, Steve tugged off his own pajamas and reached for Bucky’s. Once they were both naked, he knelt over Bucky, straddling his hips, then grabbed Bucky’s hand and guided it behind him.

As Bucky’s fingers teased along the crack of Steve’s ass, Steve thought about last time: Bucky’s finger inside him. Steve had come so hard he’d felt dizzy afterward. The very next day, Steve had filched a little jar of Vaseline from the pharmacy, tucking it into his pocket when no one was looking. He couldn’t imagine paying for it at the register, not when he knew exactly what he planned to do with it.

Bucky got braver, reaching around Steve with both hands to spread his cheeks apart, letting his fingertips brush right over Steve’s asshole.

“Yes,” Steve hissed, shifting higher on the bed to make it easier for Bucky to reach. “God, yes—touch me.”

Bucky let out a moan—he sounded like he was in agony, but he rubbed harder and pressed inside with one finger.

“Wait,” Steve said.

Bucky went still. “Did I hurt you?” His hand withdrew.

“No,” Steve answered. “No, I just—” He huffed in frustration. “Just wait a sec.” He hopped up to retrieve the Vaseline from the dresser drawer where he’d hidden it.

“ _Steve_.” It came out almost as a whine, but before Bucky could complain again, Steve was back.

“Give me your hand.”

“What?”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm, struggled to get the lid off the jar, and smeared a blob of Vaseline onto Bucky’s fingers.

“God, Steve, it’s—” Bucky tugged Steve down for a kiss. “Are you sure?” But he didn’t wait for a response before reaching around to shove his finger between the cheeks of Steve’s ass.

“Try another one,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“What?”

“Try with two,” Steve said. “Two fingers.”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon, Buck, it’ll be good.” Steve had gotten up to three fingers when he was alone, but he wasn’t going to tell Bucky that.

Bucky pulled his finger almost all the way out, then pushed back in—very carefully—adding his middle finger. Steve groaned, shoving his hips back to get Bucky’s fingers deeper. Steve could have come just from this: Bucky’s fingers twisting, stroking him from the inside. But as Bucky stretched him open, Steve wanted more.

Still rocking against Bucky’s hand, Steve fumbled in the sheets until he found the jar. He dug out a big dollop and smeared it on Bucky’s dick. Bucky let out a high-pitched gasp, and his hand stopped moving. His hips hitched up into Steve’s grasp.

Steve raised himself off Bucky’s thighs and moved higher, letting Bucky’s dick—now slick with Vaseline—glide along the cleft of his ass. Bucky’s hands wrapped around Steve’s ribcage to still his movements.

“Wait,” Bucky said. “Wait. Steve. I—” He gave Steve’s body a shake. It was gentle, but Steve could feel the anger simmering behind it. “I’m not doing it just because you’re jealous over some stupid girl.”

“That’s not—” But Steve cut himself off. Is that why he was willing? He’d thought of it a million times, but why did he admit it to Bucky tonight?

Bucky had gone still, his hand resting on Steve’s hip.

“That’s not why,” Steve insisted. “I don’t care about that.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. But he didn’t move.

“If you don’t want to—”

“No, I do!” Bucky’s fingers on Steve’s hip clamped down hard, pulling him close for a lingering kiss. When he spoke again, his voice was breathy and quiet. “I do. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah?” Bucky said, clearly gratified.

Steve had said it without thinking—it seemed like a mistake to admit how much he wanted it when he was trying to keep everything under control—but he was glad now that he’d told the truth. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he kissed Bucky again. He let out a happy-sounding hum against Steve’s lips.

Steve sat upright and shifted his hips, trying to lower himself onto Bucky, but everything was too slippery. Bucky’s dick kept sliding away, along the crack of Steve’s ass. It felt good, and Bucky moaned quietly, but Steve wanted Bucky inside him. He tried wrapping his hand around Bucky’s dick to aim it in the right direction, but the angle was awkward.

“Wait a minute,” Bucky whispered, nudging gently at Steve’s chest. “I can’t move much like this.”

Steve backed off, sitting on his heels while Bucky climbed off the bed and circled around him. Bucky knelt on the bed behind Steve and wrapped both arms around his stomach. He kissed the side of Steve’s neck as he tilted Steve forward with his whole body, pushing him onto his hands and knees.

Part of Steve wanted to balk, to spin around and scramble back on top, but Bucky settled his hands on Steve’s hips and let out a shuddering sigh. His dick was already prodding at Steve’s thighs. Instead of pulling away, Steve found himself sliding his knees apart and angling his hips to make it easier for Bucky to push in.

God, it was good. Bucky felt huge inside of him, but the sharp edge of pain was the only thing preventing Steve coming simply from the realization of what they were doing. Bucky’s arms wrapped around Steve’s waist. He was murmuring gibberish in Steve’s ear, but even that made Steve hot: Bucky was breathless, desperate, but he moved with agonizing slowness. He still had one hand resting on the mattress to support them, afraid that Steve couldn’t bear his weight.

As always, Bucky was so _careful_. Steve didn’t want to be moved by it. He didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to lose himself in sensation.

Bucky’s name erupted out of Steve’s mouth. It made Bucky moan, so Steve said it again, shoving his hips back at the same time. Bucky forgot to be careful, lifting his hand from the mattress to cup Steve’s dick, giving him something to thrust into.

“Yeah, Buck, like that. Just like that. Fuck me.”

Bucky let out a strangled groan, and his hips jerked forward hard enough to knock Steve off balance. He fell onto his elbows, and Bucky went stock still. His hand went back to the mattress to prop himself up. It seemed like he would move away—pull out—but Steve was fine. He tightened the muscles straining around Bucky’s dick.

“Holy—” Bucky said, then hissed out Steve’s name. “Please, I can’t—”

“I’m good,” Steve panted out. He braced himself more firmly on his elbows, then rocked back against Bucky, making him slide a little deeper. “God, yeah. C’mon, fuck me.”

Bucky wrapped both arms around Steve’s waist, leaning heavily on Steve’s back. His hips slammed forward, over and over, lighting up each nerve in Steve’s body like a fuse.  

*****

Steve was ready to burst with excitement. Everything that had happened since he’d left Bucky at the fair was buzzing in his head, but he couldn’t tell Bucky about any of it. It was classified—they’d made that abundantly clear—and Bucky would probably try to talk him out of it anyway. Too dangerous.

Steve was barely aware of his movements as he climbed the stairs. It was like he’d already gone through the transformation Dr. Erskine had only vaguely described—he didn’t feel winded at all.

When he unlocked the door, he found Bucky sitting at their little kitchen table. He’d changed out of his uniform and put on a graying undershirt and a faded pair of pants he’d had forever—they were a little too short for him. His expression was grim, but when he lifted his head and saw Steve, he smiled. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

Steve slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He noticed Bucky’s uniform, crisp on a hanger dangling from the knob of one of the kitchen cabinets. Bucky must have ironed it, wanting to look his best when he left first thing in the morning.

“What took you so long?” Bucky asked. “Was there really a long line to enlist at the damn fair?”

The temptation to spill his guts was almost overwhelming, but Steve squelched it and shook his head. “What did you do? You take the girls dancing?”

“I did,” Bucky said. “It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. Giving them both enough attention so they didn’t get jealous. Making sure nobody was standing on the sidelines too long.”

Steve pulled off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door.

“It got even harder after I walked them home. There’s only so much of me to go around.”

It took a minute for what Bucky said to seep into Steve’s brain. He spun around and gaped at Bucky. “Wait, you didn’t—I mean, not _both_ of them.”

Bucky laughed. “Come on, Steve. You really think I’d be able to convince them?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but his mouth spread into a grin. Bucky’d only hinted that he’d fooled around with those girls because he _wanted_ Steve to be jealous—Steve was sure of it.

“I kissed my date goodnight,” Bucky said, “and kept apologizing to yours.”

Steve snorted. “I’m sure she was glad to get rid of me.”

Bucky didn’t bother denying it—Steve’s date had been rude enough to his face, so why would he believe that she was kinder when he wasn’t around? Bucky’s smile faded, and he looked at Steve intently. It was obvious what he wanted. They were both thinking it, but Steve didn’t know how to get things started with both of them dressed and all the lights on.

“It’s late,” Steve said lamely.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. He didn’t get out of his chair. “I can sleep on the train though. I was thinking about making something to eat. It’s been hours since dinner. You hungry?”

Steve shook his head. “I was gonna take a quick shower.”

Bucky lowered his gaze as he nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed visibly as he swallowed. “Okay.” He stood up and took a plate out of the cabinet. “Okay. I’ll make a sandwich.”

“Okay.” Steve grabbed his things and headed down the hall to the bathroom. He took a lightning-fast shower, and the whole time his dick was jutting out. All he could think about was getting Bucky in his bed, in the dark. Feeling Bucky’s desperate hands all over.

It had been a long time since Bucky’d fucked him—they didn’t do it every time, and after Bucky’d been at Basic for so long, they’d been awkward around each other—but Steve was sure that tonight, Bucky would want to. Maybe Bucky always wanted to—it wasn’t like they talked about it. And Steve couldn’t come right out and ask.

When Steve got back to the apartment, Bucky was still sitting at the table. In front of him was an empty plate with a dusting of crumbs. His eyes swept over Steve from head to toe. Steve wished he’d taken something more to put on after his shower. With just his bathrobe, it must be really obvious that he was hard.

Bucky ducked his head, but not before Steve saw him lick his lips—Steve was sure it wasn’t a conscious gesture, but did it mean he was thinking about a suckjob? Steve’s dick twitched eagerly at the thought, but it wasn’t what Steve really wanted.

“I’ll go wash up too.” Bucky pushed back from the table. The legs of his chair stuttered over the uneven floorboards. “I’ll be quick.” He set his plate in the sink.

“Okay,” Steve said. It was strange that they were _almost_ talking about it: Bucky assuming that Steve would be waiting up for him. Bucky usually didn’t assume anything, and Steve had always thought he liked it that way, but the anticipation was good—knowing that Bucky was thinking about it just as much as he was. Not to mention knowing that Bucky was already so hot and bothered he forgot that they never talked about it.

Once Bucky was gone, though, the waiting made Steve a little nervous. Which was stupid—this was _Bucky_. But Steve couldn’t sit still, so he went to the dresser to get the little jar of Vaseline and tucked it under his pillow. After a pause, he stuck his hand under the pillow, grabbed the jar, and set it on Bucky’s nightstand. Steve wouldn’t have to ask if he left Bucky such an obvious hint.

Steve looked at the clock. Bucky’d only been gone three minutes, so Steve circled the room, turning off all the lights except for the little lamp between their beds. Steve sat on the edge of his mattress and looked around. It felt like there should be more he could do to get things ready. Like he should make more of an effort to make it memorable for Bucky, right before he shipped out.

Steve slipped off his robe, dropped it onto his pillow, then crawled onto Bucky’s bed, lying on his stomach with his head resting on his folded arms. Bucky would be surprised, that’s for sure. Steve just hoped he liked it. Would he gasp? What if he laughed? And what if someone happened to be passing in the hallway outside just as Bucky opened the door—they might see Steve lying there. A shiver went down Steve’s spine, though it wasn’t really chilly in the apartment.

What was he doing? This was the kind of stupid gesture he knew had no place in whatever he had with Bucky. Steve might as well have gone out and bought a bouquet of flowers. Forget it. He would grab his robe and a book. He could at least pretend he was reading. Just as he pushed himself up on his elbows, the door opened and Bucky breathed out Steve’s name. Steve froze and looked over his shoulder. Bucky stood in the doorway, staring.

“Close the door!” Steve hissed.

Bucky dropped his dirty clothes and wet towel on the floor and shoved the door closed. He turned the key in the lock with a flick of his wrist and yanked off his robe as he made his way across the room. As he sat on the edge of the bed, Steve jumped up—he felt too ridiculous—but Bucky caught his wrist.

“Steve, wait.”

Steve turned his arm in Bucky’s grasp. He didn’t try very hard to get away—he didn’t really want Bucky to let him go—but Bucky released his wrist and moved his hand to Steve’s side, turning him gently.

Steve couldn’t meet Bucky’s eye. Looking at his face—it was like trying to stare straight into the sun.

“Please,” Bucky said quietly.

  

_"Intimacy" by Gassada_

 

They stayed like that for a long time, Bucky gazing up at Steve, but he didn’t say another word. Finally, Steve couldn’t stand it anymore. He crawled back on the bed and settled on his stomach again, glad to be able to hide his face in his folded arms.

Bucky climbed on top of him, straddling his legs and running both hands from his shoulders down his back and over his ass, his thumbs skimming the cleft and making Steve shiver all over again. Then Bucky’s hands went up Steve’s spine, one hand sliding up his neck, fingers twining in his hair and turning his head as Bucky leaned close for a kiss. It was awkward craning his neck around like that, but when Steve tried to roll over, Bucky’s pressed him down with his whole torso.

“No, stay just like that,” he whispered into Steve’s ear. He moved his legs so that he could lie flat on top of Steve, propped up on both elbows so he could still breathe. The weight of him felt good, though, and his skin was warm all along Steve’s body. His dick poked between Steve’s legs, but he didn’t move his hips—not yet.

For a long time, Bucky just stayed like that, lying on top of Steve with his forehead pressing at Steve’s temple. After a while, Steve couldn’t stand the stillness. It made everything feel momentous in a way he didn’t like—as if this were the last time they’d ever get to do this.

He squirmed a little under Bucky’s weight, pressing his legs together and rocking his hips. Bucky groaned at the pressure on his dick and thrust forward between Steve’s thighs a few times, then pushed himself up. Steve thought he’d reach for the jar on the nightstand, but instead he bent his head to kiss Steve’s neck. He took his time with it, sucking and licking at Steve’s skin as he stroked down his back and over his ass with one hand.

Bucky’s mouth moved lower, inching down Steve’s spine with a trail of kisses. When he got to Steve’s ass, he didn’t stop—just spread his cheeks apart with both hands and licked down between them.

“Bucky!” But Bucky didn’t stop. “Buck, you don’t have to—” But Steve cut himself off with a groan as Bucky teased at his asshole with wet swipes of his tongue. Soon Steve was spreading his legs, shoving back against Bucky’s mouth, burying his own face in the pillow to smother the animal noises he was making.

“Please,” Steve gasped. “Bucky, please, I want you to—” Bucky lifted his head, and a needy whine escaped from Steve’s throat. “Don’t stop,” he begged.

“I’m not.” Bucky sounded every bit as breathless as Steve. “I’m not. I—” His tongue teased at Steve’s opening again, the tip poking inside, and Steve moaned.

“You want me to—?” Bucky panted. His hands were clenched tightly on Steve’s hips. “Now? You want me to fuck you now?”

“God, yes.”

Bucky scrambled to grab the Vaseline off the nightstand, and it took only a few more seconds until his slick fingers were circling Steve’s asshole, then sliding inside. Usually Bucky drew this part out—working Steve open with his hand until Steve had to bite his lip to keep himself from begging—but tonight, Bucky was quick, only scissoring his fingers a few times before he whispered, “Okay? Is that okay? Can I—”

“Yeah, c’mon.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hips with both hands, pulled him up onto his knees, and pushed inside him, nice and slow, waiting. Steve took deep gulping breaths, waiting for the edge of pain to loosen, to melt into pleasure. Bucky had one soothing hand on his back, and when Steve gave him a whispered _okay_ , he pulled most of the way out, then slowly back in. Steve moaned and tightened his muscles around Bucky’s dick—he knew how much Bucky liked that.

“Jesus, quit it,” Bucky said. “I can’t last if you—”

Steve ignored him and did it again. Bucky groaned and slammed into Steve, falling forward onto his back so he could reach around and grab his dick. His hand worked Steve’s dick quickly—trying to make Steve come before he did. Steve let himself rock into Bucky’s grip. It felt amazing, and he knew the motion also made his ass tug at Bucky’s dick in a way that drove him crazy.

Bucky groaned again, thrusting faster and deeper until he hit that perfect spot inside Steve—the one that made his whole body light up. Bucky’s fingers tightened around his dick as he hit that perfect spot again, and Steve cried out as he came. Even after he couldn’t move, Bucky’s hand stroked at his dick, almost unbearably good, until he’d drawn out every last bit of energy Steve had.

Bucky’s dick—still hard—slid out of Steve as he lowered him to the mattress. He pressed up close behind him and whispered, “Okay?” After Steve nodded weakly, Bucky pushed inside him again, lying down on him and tucking his hands under Steve’s arms to grab his shoulders. Steve was surprised he could still feel so much pleasure after he’d already come. Every thrust of Bucky’s hips pushed another small moan from Steve’s lips.

Bucky hissed out Steve’s name, then let out a sound that was almost a sob as he came, his every muscle taut as his dick pumped inside Steve, his arms holding Steve so tightly he almost couldn’t breathe. He collapsed flat on Steve’s back, his chest heaving.

Just as he started to feel too heavy, Bucky pressed one last kiss to the back of Steve’s neck, then pushed himself up, separating their sweat-sticky skin, and fell onto the bed next to Steve. Right away, he pulled Steve close.

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and squeezed with all his might. He’d been working so hard to ignore the fact that Bucky was leaving, so now it hit all at once. Bucky was shipping out in the morning. God only knew how long it would be before they saw each other again. For once Steve wasn’t worried about being too sappy.

“I’ll write,” Steve said. “I’ll write a lot. At least twice a week.”

Bucky kissed Steve’s temple as his arms tightened around Steve’s body. “Don’t talk about it yet.” 

 

**II.**

By the time the doctors were done with him, Bucky had a much better appreciation for Steve’s aversion to hospitals. Bucky felt fine going in, but after hours of being poked and prodded, he walked out on shaky legs. Steve was waiting for him. He jumped up and stared at Bucky.

“Quit it with that hangdog look, okay?” Bucky snapped. “I’m fine.”

Steve nodded, but his expression was still mournful. Bucky led the way out of the tent, and when they were several paces away, he nudged Steve with his elbow.

“Really, I’m fine.”

Steve stopped and turned, so Bucky stopped too. There were people all over the place, but it was starting to get dark, and no one was paying them any attention anyway.

Steve didn’t say anything. He studied Bucky’s face for a few moments before finally nodding, satisfied. Then he led the way to a small tent way off on the edge of camp. When they ducked inside, Bucky saw there was only one cot. At its foot was a trunk with _Rogers, Steven_ stenciled on the side.

“How is it you rate your own tent?” Bucky teased.

Steve gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m the only male cast member. They keep the crew in separate quarters.”

“Oh, right, the USO,” Bucky said. Steve had explained on the way back, but everything about that long walk seemed surreal.

Steve hung his leather jacket carefully on a hanger, though it was riddled with tears and scratches.

“So that’s what this get-up was for. _Captain America_.” Bucky crossed the tent until he was standing right in front of Steve. He reached out and traced the star emblazoned over Steve’s chest with one finger.

Steve blushed and rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Buck.”

“No, I like it.” Bucky hooked one finger into Steve’s belt and leaned close to whisper. “Show me the rest.”

Bucky knew that being playful like that was a risk, but Steve laughed and wrapped one arm around Bucky’s back. He bent his head down until his forehead was brushing Bucky’s.

“Captain Rogers?” It was a woman’s voice, dangerously close to the tent.

Steve jumped away from Bucky and grabbed the hanger with his leather jacket, holding it awkwardly in both hands. “Come in.”

The tent flap was pushed aside, and Agent Carter appeared, her perfect red lips curved up in a smile. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t meant to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky said. He’d known what would happen as soon as he’d convinced himself that he hadn’t dreamed up Steve and his impossibly broad shoulders. As soon as they’d walked back into camp and he’d seen the way Carter looked at Steve, and the way he’d joked with her, Bucky’d known it right away— _I’ve lost him now_. That didn’t mean he was giving up without a fight. “If you’ve got official business, I can step outside,” he said, but he didn’t move toward the exit.

“No, Bucky, stay.” Though as he said it, Steve’s eyes were glued to Carter.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Carter said. “Colonel Phillips would like you to come to London with us. Your little adventure seems to have convinced him that you can accomplish quite a lot, even without an army of supersoldiers behind you.”

“That’s—” Steve shook his head, grinning ear to ear. Of course he was—it was everything he’d ever wanted. “That’s great. Of course, I’ll come. When do we leave?”

“I’ll have someone fetch you in the morning,” Carter said. “Is that all right?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Yes, thank you.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.” Steve turned to Bucky, a huge grin lighting up his face. He dumped the jacket on the cot and grabbed Bucky’s arm “Can you believe it? I’m finally gonna get to—”

Carter popped her head back in. “So sorry. I—” It was the first time Bucky had seen even a hint of uncertainty in her.

Steve let his hand drop. “No, it’s fine.”

Her gaze cut between Bucky and Steve. Bucky was surprised when it settled on him. “Barnes, is it?”

Bucky nodded. Then he wondered if not answering could be considered insubordinate—he didn’t really get how she fit into the chain of authority around here. Just to be safe, he forced himself to answer. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Would you come along as well?” Carter looked at Steve. “Colonel Phillips wants to set you up with a team. I assumed you’d want to bring your friend along?”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, of course I want Bucky. Thanks. Thank you very much.”

Carter flashed a tight smile and disappeared. Bucky didn’t move a muscle until he was sure she was really gone this time. Then he sank down to sit on Steve’s cot as Steve burst into excited chatter.

“Can you believe it? They’re gonna give me my own team.”

Bucky forced a smile. “You’ll do a great job.”

“I wonder who else we should get?” Steve asked.

He assumed that Bucky would be part of the team. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. Bucky always followed wherever Steve led. It was probably a stupid thing to do, with Carter hovering around, gorgeous and fiery. But Bucky was a glutton for punishment when it came to Steve.

“Do you think the other guys would come along?” Steve said. He pulled his jacket out from under Bucky’s thigh and hung it up again. “Dugan and Jones and those guys?”

“I imagine they wouldn’t take much convincing,” Bucky said. “Bunch of idiots like that? They’d probably jump at the chance.”

Steve looked at Bucky, his head tilted as if puzzled, but he laughed the comment off. “I’ll see if I can get permission for them to come to London with us. You think it’ll work?”

Bucky ran one hand over his face. “I have no idea.”

“Bucky?” Steve came to sit on the cot. “What’s wrong?”

Resting his elbows on his knees, Bucky stared down at his hands. “What happens now? With us?” He didn’t like how small his voice sounded, though he knew they couldn’t afford to be overheard.

Steve rubbed Bucky’s back, down along his spine, then up to cradle the back of his neck. His hand felt huge. Bucky wanted nothing more than to lean into him, but instead, he pushed himself to his feet and walked as far away from Steve as he could in the small tent.

Bucky took a deep breath. “If you don’t want to—”

“No, I do,” Steve said, cutting him off. “You know I do.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Bucky.” Steve jumped off the bed and crossed the space between them in two long strides. “Just—” He shook his head. “Just shut up.” He put his hands on either side of Bucky’s face and kissed him.

It stole the breath from Bucky’s lungs. Kissing had still been new for them when Bucky shipped out, and Steve had never kissed him quite like this: slow and tender and lingering. When their lips parted, they were both panting.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Steve said. “You know that?”

He bent his head for another searing kiss, and Bucky couldn’t find the strength to make Steve talk, to figure things out. It was so much easier to let Steve keep kissing him like that. Part of Bucky had always worried that Steve only did this because he thought he couldn’t get anyone else, but here he was looking like a god—he could get anyone he wanted, and he was still with Bucky, holding him tight and kissing him like he never needed to come up for air.

Part of Steve’s urgency was probably his own fear. Bucky’d experienced it himself all too often. Seeing Steve in the hospital was terrifying, and it happened often enough that he never completely forgot. But the power of that kind of fear faded with time. Right now, after seeing Bucky on Zola’s table, Steve was feeling scared, so he was holding on tight, but that would wear off after a while.

The intensity of Steve’s movements made everything a little easier. He felt like a different person under Bucky’s hands, and that feeling only got worse when Bucky got the stupid uniform off of him, as if he’d thought the muscles would peel off with the costume. When he got down to bare skin there was no pretending that Steve hadn’t changed—it made Bucky hesitate every time he moved to touch him, but Steve rushed things along, leaving little time for awkwardness.

Steve tugged off Bucky’s borrowed clothes, shoved him down onto the cot, and knelt in front of him. Bucky closed his eyes as Steve bent to wrap his lips around Bucky’s dick, and this felt the same. Bucky put one hand lightly on the back of Steve’s head.

Steve’s hands massaged Bucky’s thighs as his head bobbed. God, he was strong now. He sucked mercilessly at Bucky’s dick, and Bucky cried out before he could stop himself. Steve pulled off and straightened. He grabbed the back of Bucky’s neck and tugged him close to hiss in his ear, “Shut up.” But Bucky could hear the laughter in his voice—sure, they had to be quiet, but Steve liked making Bucky lose control.

Steve bent low, ready to take Bucky into his mouth again, but Bucky pulled him back up for a kiss, tugging him up onto the cot, which creaked out a warning at their combined weight.

“Here, wait,” Bucky whispered, shoving Steve off of him. He grabbed the blanket and spread it out on the ground. When he looked up, Steve was rummaging in his trunk. Bucky sat on the blanket cross-legged and watched, letting his eyes learn the new lines of Steve’s body.

Steve found what he was looking for and held it up: a small jar of Vaseline. Bucky’s heart started thumping. Steve still wanted to—? Or now that he was bigger, did he want to fuck Bucky? But the second Steve knelt on the blanket, he opened the jar and offered it to Bucky. He dipped two fingers into it.

“We should probably turn off the light,” Steve whispered.

“You think?” Bucky said. He wondered if it would be easier to get used to Steve if he couldn’t see him.

Steve shrugged, then got up to douse the lantern. In the dark, he found Bucky with a hand on top of his head and knelt down to kiss him sweetly. “C’mon,” he said into Bucky’s ear. “Get me ready.”

Bucky could hear Steve moving around in the darkness, but his own joints had turned to jelly. It took him several minutes of clumsy shifting to recline next to Steve. Bucky reached out, trying to touch Steve’s skin only with the fingers not sticky with Vaseline, and found his shoulder. He had settled on the blanket on his stomach and was propped up on his elbows.

Steve returned Bucky’s kisses with surprising enthusiasm, and when Bucky slid his hand down to slide his fingers into the cleft of Steve’s ass, he canted his hips up to meet Bucky’s hand. His eagerness made Bucky impatient too—he rutted against Steve’s thigh as he worked him open. Steve made a noise in the back of his throat—he sounded the same. Bucky just needed time to get used to the rest of it.

“I’m ready.” Steve’s voice sounded strained. He wasn’t uncomfortable. Bucky could tell that much from the way he rocked his hips in rhythm with the movements of Bucky’s fingers. Was he just desperate to get started?

Bucky withdrew his fingers and groped with the other hand for the Vaseline jar to slick up his dick, but Steve was already up on his knees, trying to nudge Bucky into place behind him. “I’m ready, Buck. It’s fine. I want to really feel it.”

Bucky’s dick jerked at the words, but he didn’t move yet. Just because Steve was big now and supposedly would heal really fast, that didn’t mean Bucky would rush things. “Steve—”

Steve cut him off with a kiss. “I’m good. I promise.”

Bucky was still doubtful. Wouldn’t the quick-healing thing make it _harder_ to get him ready for this? If his muscles kept springing back to the way they started? He pressed close and lined himself up, determined to go slowly.

As soon as he started to push inside, Steve made the sound he made when he really liked something Bucky was doing to him. It was very quiet, a particular way he let out his breath more than an articulated noise, and it turned Bucky on like nothing else. He didn’t think Steve was even aware of it. Each time Bucky slid a little deeper, Steve let out that almost-silent breath and pushed back to meet him, until Bucky’s body was flush against Steve’s ass.

Bucky paused, letting himself breathe, but Steve, the bastard, tightened his muscles around Bucky’s dick. Bucky tried to stifle his groan as his hips hitched forward helplessly. Steve moved with him, their bodies pulling apart, then slamming together again. The tight heat of Steve’s body was exquisite, but Bucky didn’t want it to be over too quickly. He grabbed Steve’s hips.

“Wait,” Bucky panted out. “Slow down.”

Steve let out a low growl of frustration, and Bucky ran one hand down his ribs to soothe him as he pulled out.

“Bucky—”

“Sssshh.” Bucky prodded at Steve until he rolled over onto his back. “I know.”

Bucky crawled between Steve’s legs, tucking one hand behind Steve’s knee to angle his hips just right.

“ _Bucky_.”

Bucky sucked at the tender skin behind Steve’s ear and slowly pushed back inside him. Steve’s whole body relaxed as he exhaled again in that particular way.

“Good?” Bucky murmured. He pushed himself up, and Steve grinned up at him—just a flash of his teeth in the gloom. His hands gripped Bucky’s biceps, urging him to move. Bucky let himself go then, thrusting hard until he felt Steve shake beneath him as he came with a gasp. Steve’s belly was hot and slick under Bucky’s as he leaned down for a kiss, and Steve craned up to meet him. After another gentle kiss, Steve clenched his muscles around Bucky’s dick again, and his orgasm slammed through his body. He pressed his face into the crook of Steve’s neck to muffle his groans.

Bucky was still in a daze as Steve swiped at their bellies with some piece of clothing, rearranged their limbs, and pulled a second blanket off the cot to cover them. Bucky hadn’t noticed the chill before. Being close to Steve was like sitting next to a roaring fire. Bucky probably would have gotten drowsy from the heat he gave off even if he weren’t already so tired.

Steve’s arm tightened around Bucky’s waist. “You awake?”

“Mmm.”

Steve laughed quietly and gave Bucky another squeeze. His good mood made Bucky astonishingly happy. Things had been good between them the night before Bucky’d shipped out, and now _this_ —Steve laughing and affectionate, completely relaxed. Maybe they weren’t hopeless after all.  

*****

They crept out of the tent the next morning just as dawn was breaking, but plenty of people got up early in a camp like that one, so they had an audience. Bucky stepped out first and was greeted by Dum Dum’s smiling face.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dugan said.

“Fuck off,” Bucky answered with a saccharine smile. He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder at Steve emerging behind him, frowning at Dugan’s teasing. He didn’t know that the nickname meant nothing. It was just the usual bullshit all soldiers used to chase away their fear, but Steve’s expression—guilty and angry—made Dugan squint at him, puzzled.

 _And there’s a seed planted_ , Bucky thought. Now, this moment would stick in Dum Dum’s mind instead of evaporating from his memory as soon as it was over.

Soon they were too busy to dwell on it. Carter rounded everyone up—Colonel Phillips included—and within the hour they were headed to London. Steve sulked quietly on the plane. “They should have let me talk to the men,” Steve said to Bucky, just loud enough to be heard over the engines. “I don’t want them to be forced into coming along by the brass. I only want volunteers.”

“What the hell kind of missions are you planning that you’ll only take volunteers?” Bucky said, hoping to lighten Steve’s mood. And it did make Steve smile, at least for a moment, but all Bucky could think about was the way Steve was talking: _the men_. He already sounded like a leader.

Steve didn’t get to talk to anyone—not even Bucky—until late in the evening when he caught up to them at the pub. The guys were already with him, one hundred percent. Even before they’d gotten back to camp, they’d all fallen for Steve’s earnestness, his certainty, and his clear sense of purpose. They were prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth. Steve didn’t see the conversation for the formality it was, and his mood was decidedly brighter when he found Bucky in the next room.

Even when Bucky teased him—the outfit, the _tights_ —Steve wasn’t bothered. Instead, he gave Bucky a smile full of promise. And he kept that promise, Carter’s red dress be damned. He was all over Bucky with his hands and his mouth the second there was a closed door behind them. 

*****

For the first three months, life was like a dream. Their missions went like clockwork, interrupting the enemy’s communications and supply lines, taking prisoners who spilled their guts and provided more intelligence than Phillips had been able to scrounge up in the previous year, and knocking one Hydra base after another right off the map. Steve worked almost nonstop, but he thrived on the success and seemed genuinely happy for the first time since Bucky’d known him.

That happiness had benefits for Bucky too: for all those long weeks as fall headed into winter, Bucky never saw Steve frowning, never heard a cross word from him. They were careful. After that first night in the tent, they never risked getting caught while out in the field, but they were often enough in their quarters in London or could spend a night in a village inn. Though their stolen private moments rarely did more than whet their appetites, Steve was always contented and affectionate.

However, the success also made Steve push himself even more, and maybe he got a little overconfident too, because three months along, he misjudged the distance of a blown-out bridge and bashed right into the ragged end of it with his ribcage taking the brunt of the impact. He would have fallen into the rushing, rocky river below if Bucky hadn’t thrown himself down, spread-eagled, desperately clutching at Steve’s arm until the other guys could lift him.

Steve swore he was fine, but Bucky could see in his every movement that he was hurting. After they made camp that night, he cornered Steve and insisted on taking a look at his ribs. “What were you thinking, jumping like that?” He was rough with his words, but his hands were gentle, sweeping over Steve’s skin as if he could erase the purpling bruises painted all over his skin. “You could have waited until we strung a rope or something.” He sighed. Steve had gotten injured before: bruises, cuts, scrapes, and even a broken arm. He healed like magic, it was true, but that didn’t make it any easier for Bucky to watch. “You want me to wrap ‘em?”

“Nah,” Steve said. “It’ll be—”

A twig snapped a few yards away, and both of their heads snapped up. Morita was standing in the snow under the trees, staring at them. Steve yanked his shirt down, and Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve wasn’t acting out of modesty, Bucky was sure. He simply didn’t like anyone seeing Bucky’s hands on his skin.

“Okay, Cap?” Morita said.

“Yeah, fine,” Steve said.

Morita moved off deeper into the trees, bending now and then to pick up a dead branch. He’d been looking for kindling, not intending to snoop.

Bucky lifted the hem of Steve’s shirt and pulled a few bandage rolls out of his bag.

“I said I don’t need them wrapped,” Steve said. “It’s fine.”

“I heard what you said.” Bucky started to twine the bandage around Steve’s torso. “I’m ignoring you because you’re being an idiot.”

Steve scowled, but after a moment the expression cracked. He huffed out a laugh, then winced at the way it jarred his ribs, but he didn’t complain as Bucky finished securing the bandage.

When Bucky tugged the shirt back down, he expected Steve to get up and return to the fire ring with the others, but he didn’t move.

“I think maybe Morita knows,” Steve said.

“Knows what?” Bucky asked, distracted as he tucked the extra roll of bandages away. When he looked up, Steve was glaring at him. “Oh,” Bucky said.

“And Dugan too.”

“I don’t think—” Bucky began, but then he remembered Dugan’s face outside the tent that first morning Steve was in camp. They called him Dum Dum, but Dugan sure wasn’t stupid. “They say something to you?”

Steve shook his head. “Just a feeling.”

“You’re paranoid.”

Steve didn’t respond.

“What can we do about it anyway?”

Steve stared at Bucky, and for a long terrifying moment, Bucky was sure that Steve was going to put an end to it all. Then Steve heaved a sigh. He reached out with one hand and gave Bucky’s knee a quick squeeze. “We just gotta be more careful.” 

*****

Steve threw himself over the ridge and did a quick headcount—everyone accounted for. “Clear!”

Immediately Dernier threw the switch. The first detonation shook the ground and shattered all the windows in the far wing of the factory. Dugan let out a whoop, and everyone was grinning. As the second explosion took down the roof of the enormous warehouse, Steve imagined the destruction inside—the eerie blue glow of Hydra weapons burned away by the red furnace flash of good old-fashioned TNT.

A third blast leveled a smaller outbuilding. When the smoke cleared, Steve saw a truck driving away from the wreckage. Most of the staff and guards in the place had scattered when they’d burst in, but obviously there were a few stragglers. Steve stood up to get a better view. Bucky came to stand next to him.

“Let ‘em go,” Bucky said under his breath.

“Yeah, listen to Barnes,” Dugan said. “They’ll live to tell the tale. Get all those Hydra goons quaking in their boots.”

Steve looked at Bucky.

“They’re heading for the back gate.” Bucky’s voice was calm, but Steve could hear the plea buried in his words. “Dernier set a charge there too.”

Before Bucky could speak again, Steve was off, arms and legs pumping like a steam engine. Would he ever get used to how easy it was now? His body did what he asked it to and more. He sprinted down the hill to intercept the truck as it rounded the northeast corner of the warehouse. The truck moved slowly to avoid the rubble of a tumbled-down brick wall. All it took was a running leap, and Steve was up and over the tailgate looking down at the surprised faces of a group of black-suited thugs.

Three of them jumped to their feet to tackle Steve. Steve dispatched each one with a hard punch to the jaw, but two more were ready right behind them. He grabbed each guy by the scruff of his neck and bashed their heads together. They fell in a heap at his feet. When Steve looked up, ready for more, he saw the muzzle of a gun, surrounded by that surreal shade of blue. He threw up his shield just in time, but the impact blasted him out of the back of the truck and sent him sprawling in the snow. He leapt to his feet to give chase just as the charge by the back gate detonated. He was thrown again, landing flat on his back on the snow, dazed.

When he recovered enough to sit up he looked around, half-hoping to see the charred remnants of the truck, but it must have swerved and avoided the explosion. It was speeding off through the trees.

Bucky skidded to his knees at Steve’s side, panting. His hand closed on Steve’s arm, and his eyes scanned Steve’s face frantically.

“I’m fine,” Steve said. He shook off Bucky’s hand and forced himself to stand on shaky legs.

“Steve—”

Steve glared at Bucky, and his mouth snapped shut. Morita was running to join them, medical kit in hand, so Steve called out to him. “I’m fine.”

His body was fine, other than a few bruises, but his pride—that had taken a beating. It was humiliating to have Bucky come running after him, especially after he’d been tossed out of the truck like he still weighed a hundred pounds. He’d forgotten how it felt.

As they prepared to head back to camp, all the Commandos eyed him nervously. They hadn’t seen him fail before. Then they looked to Bucky, as if he could fix things. Steve barked out orders, making sure all the gear was gathered up and loaded properly, but everyone was uneasy. The drive back to camp was almost silent.

It was Bucky’s turn to cook, so while the others unpacked and stowed the gear, he got a fire going. Steve waited to approach until he was sure that all the other fellas were busy. Maybe Bucky’d been right about him being paranoid—for the last several weeks Steve had kept a sharp eye out and hadn’t seen even a hint of suspicion. Still, it paid to be cautious.

As soon as Steve was within earshot, Bucky glared at him. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Steve was too surprised to answer. If he’d been looking for comfort for his bruised ego, he’d obviously come to the wrong place.

“It was ten guys,” Bucky said. “Maybe a dozen. Hardly enough to turn the tide of the war either way, so why not let them go?”

“I thought I could stop them,” Steve said. “I almost did, it was just—”

“It was stupid.”

“I’m fine, Buck. Why are you—”

“You could have died! A few feet closer to that blast, and—”

“But I wasn’t a few feet closer.”

“Luck,” Bucky growled. “That was pure luck. And you ran _towards it_.”

“Bucky—”

“You’re still human, you know. You can still die. You can’t pull this kind of stunt. You can’t—”

“I can do whatever I want,” Steve snapped. He regretted the words the second they were out of his mouth. He wanted to touch Bucky, though the realization took him by surprise. He knew if he could pull Bucky close, all his anger would melt into relief, and that would be the end of it. “I’m fine, Buck. Really. You don’t need to take care of me anymore.”

“Obviously I still do.”

“What?” Steve’s temper was heating up, but he tried to keep it under control. He didn’t want to draw attention.

“You keep doing stupid stuff like this,” Bucky turned away and threw another log onto the fire. “Somebody’s gotta look out for you.”

Steve stared at him for a moment before answering. “You can’t actually tell me what to do.”

Bucky whirled around to face him. “So that’s why you went after those guys? Cause I said not to?”

“No, that’s not—”

“C’mon, Steve—”

“No, Bucky, I’m the CO.” Steve suddenly realized how loud he’d gotten and lowered his voice. “I’m in charge. If you don’t like it—”

Steve broke off at the sound of Bucky’s bitter laugh. “If I don’t like it _what_? You gonna send me to my room? Court martial me?”

“No, don’t—”

“Cause believe me, I don’t like it. I’ve never liked it, but I’m sure as hell used to it. You’re always in charge, Steve. Always. And I’ve always put up with it, but apparently even I have my limits. And I guess mine is watching you get yourself killed.”

Bucky stalked away, past the tents and into the trees. Steve was tempted to follow, but Bucky wouldn’t listen when he was that angry, and the guys were already way too aware of the tension between them. Plus, if they wanted to eat dinner anytime soon, somebody had to tend the fire. Steve crouched down and fed some kindling into the flames—the log that Bucky had carelessly tossed on had almost smothered them.

Hours passed before Bucky came back. Everyone else had already made their way to the fireside and wordlessly chipped in to get dinner ready. Usually if someone skipped out on their turn—especially Bucky and Dernier, who somehow made the food taste like something other than slop—it was met with loud and insistent if good-natured nagging. The lack of complaint was yet another sign of how obvious it was to all the guys that something wasn’t right.

When Bucky finally appeared, he didn’t say anything to Steve. He didn’t even glance in his direction. He shooed the others away from the cooking pots and took over.

All through dinner, the conversation was painfully stilted. When Bucky announced there were enough beans for second helpings, it was like he’d offered shortcake with fresh strawberries—everyone feigned enthusiasm just to have something to say. Bucky circled around the fire doling out the extra beans, and he dumped two heaping spoonfuls onto Steve’s plate.

“Hey,” Steve said. It was the first word he’d uttered since Bucky’d stormed off.

“It’s fine,” Bucky murmured, already turning to serve Monty. “There’s plenty.”

But Bucky only put one spoonful on Monty’s plate, then scraped the bottom of the pot to dish up a meager serving for himself.

Steve sighed. Even at a time like this, when Bucky was fed up, he was trying to take care of Steve. He would have objected, but no one else seemed to notice that Bucky’d slipped Steve more than his share, and the last thing he wanted was to give them more reason to think about why Bucky treated him the way he did. So Steve said nothing. He shoved his fork into his mouth until the food was gone, barely tasting it, but when he was done, for the first time since they’d left the base, his belly was full.

They’d all agreed on the very first mission that each man would clean up after himself after meals, so in the chaos of activity while everyone washed their plates, Steve sidled up to Bucky. Even before Steve got a chance to say anything, Bucky let him off the hook.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was close by. “I’m sorry too. Let’s just forget about it. Okay?”

He walked away before Steve could answer, but it was like the poisonous cloud had lifted. When they all reconvened at the fireside, everyone seemed more relaxed, and Bucky came to sit right next to Steve, where he belonged.

Steve allowed some chatter, but he was eager to get things settled for the mission the next morning, so after a few minutes, he cleared his throat and waited until everyone quieted and looked his way.

“Great job today.” Steve found himself wanting to make excuses for his failure with the truck, but no one seemed to expect it. They were watching him expectantly—ready for orders, as usual. “I want to see the same focus and efficiency tomorrow. If our intelligence is correct, there are about a hundred and fifty Allied soldiers being held in a Hydra facility fifteen miles east. Most of us will be headed directly there to get them out and take down the building, but we also need to cut off their communications. There’s a radio tower in the woods a few miles off. A two-man team will split off and head there to take it down. Without it, they won’t be able to get reinforcements, at least not quickly. Not with the mountains all around.”

“Who’s going for the tower?” Dugan said. “I don’t want to miss the main event.”

Steve smiled. “I was hoping for a couple volunteers.” He looked at the fire-bright faces around him, but each man—except Bucky—was carefully avoiding Steve’s eye. No one wanted to volunteer to drive out to the middle of nowhere and miss the action. Not that there wasn’t some danger in the second mission, but all of them were eager for a fight and wanted to be in the team that went up against Hydra directly.

As the silence started to get awkward, Morita raised his hand halfway. “I guess I should go. It being a radio tower and all.”

Steve nodded, all business.

“Maybe Dernier,” Bucky offered. “He’s fastest with the fuses. It’ll speed things up. Get out of there faster.”

Steve had been hoping Dernier would speak up, but after Bucky made the suggestion, Dernier let loose a torrent of French. It was too quick for Steve to understand every word, but he caught something about trigger wires. It was true that the Hydra base could have booby traps. They’d run into that before, and Dernier’s expertise might help them dismantle any triggers quickly and sneak in unnoticed. Not to mention that Morita was clever enough with explosives to manage the job at the tower, so it didn’t much matter who the second man was. No one else raised a hand. While Dernier was still loudly voicing his objections, Dugan started to talk right over him, putting in his two cents. Their discussions were never structured—discipline was a relative concept—but Steve could feel the planning session slipping out of his grasp. He needed to get things under control.

His gaze traveled almost against his will to Bucky, who shook his head, just the slightest of movements. But Steve felt the others’ eyes on him. He couldn’t show favoritism, and it made sense to send his second in command to lead the other team, however small. Bucky would be mad though. Knowing that made Steve take refuge in formality.

He said, “Sergeant Barnes will go with Morita to take out the tower.”

Dugan let out a small snort of laughter. “ _Sergeant?_ ”

Steve ignored the remark. He didn’t want to be staring, but he couldn’t look away from the tensed muscles in Bucky’s jaw. When he finally tore his eyes away, he saw Gabe and Dernier trade a troubled glance.

“You leave at oh-five-hundred and take the Jeep,” Steve continued. “Once the tower is out, rendez-vous at the coordinates Monty set out, and we’ll all head back to camp.”

There was a long pause after Steve gave the orders. Then Bucky finally spoke, his voice a grim monotone. “Yes, sir.”

Morita’s head turned to stare at Bucky, a little startled. Then he looked at Steve and said, “Yes, sir.” It came out sounding like a question. None of them were used to following protocol.

Bucky stood and left the circle at the fire, heading straight for the Jeep with Morita trailing following behind him. He was following orders. There was no reason to call him back, but Steve was distracted as he went over the plan of attack on the main target. He found himself watching Bucky as he filled the gas tank and loaded gear into the back.

Steve managed to wrap things up and send the guys to prep the truck just as Bucky finished with the Jeep. Morita was nowhere in sight.

“We’re all set to go, sir,” Bucky said.

“Bucky—”

“No, Captain, I get it. You’re in charge.”

Bucky sounded more resigned than angry. It made Steve desperate to explain, but Morita reappeared with some gear and handed Bucky his pack.

“We’d better go get some sleep,” Bucky said. “We’ve got to leave pretty damn early.” 

*****

Bucky and Morita pulled up to the rendez-vous point more than two hours late and found Dugan sitting there alone, his face grim. Bucky’s heart started hammering, so Morita was the one who asked, “What happened?”

“We got the prisoners out, but the place must’ve been rigged to blow,” Dugan explained. “Took us all by surprise. Just shrapnel. But we all got a little scraped up.”

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed. They’d all gotten minor wounds from shrapnel now and then. Most of the time all it took was a quick field dressing. In fact, Dugan had a fresh bandage wrapped around his left forearm. But the silence stretched out, becoming ominous.

Bucky made himself look Dugan right in the eye. His expression was mournful—he hated being the bearer of bad news—and Bucky thought again of Steve’s certainty that at least some of the guys knew what they did behind closed doors. Bucky had scoffed at Steve’s paranoia, but it was clear Dugan hesitated to speak only because he worried how Bucky would take it.

“Cap got the worst of it,” Dugan said finally.

Bucky nodded carefully. He wanted to ask questions, but he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“He’ll be okay,” Dugan continued. “But there’s kind of a big chunk of it stuck between his ribs. The others took him back to base, and Jones radioed to let me know they got there just fine. They’re flying him to London, to a real hospital, just to be on the safe side.”

Bucky nodded again. Somehow it was worse knowing that Steve wasn’t even in the same country anymore. Still unable to speak, he followed Dugan and Morita to the waiting Jeep and climbed into the back. He felt safer knowing they would have to crane their necks around to see his face.

The ride back to camp seemed to take forever.

They’d only just stepped out of the Jeep when Agent Carter appeared. “He’s doing well,” she said cheerfully, without them having to ask. “They landed and are en route to London, if they’re not there already.”

“What’s the plan?” Dugan said gruffly. “We wait here?”

“No,” Carter said. “We’re all going to London.”

Her eyes flicked to Bucky, and he lowered his gaze reflexively, then kicked himself—how much more obvious could he be? But when he forced himself to lift his head and face her again, her expression was kind. That was worse.

“Well, all right then,” Dugan said. “Let’s get packed up.” 

*****

Bucky had always hated seeing Steve in the hospital, looking so small huddled in the stark white sheets. But it wasn’t any easier seeing all two hundred odd pounds of him lying limp on a gurney. He was on his side, his impossibly broad shoulders pulling the sheet up high. His face was pale, and his eyes were closed.

“He might sleep for a while,” the doctor said. “With his metabolism—well, we didn’t want to risk him waking up during surgery, so it might be a while until the anesthetic is completely out of his system.”

Agent Carter had come with Bucky to the hospital—a silent, awkward ride if ever there was one—but she didn’t speak up, so Bucky had to.

“How’d it go?” He knew the question came out sounding angry, but it was the only way he could get the words out past his clenched jaw. “Will he be okay?”

Before the doctor could answer, Steve’s eyes fluttered open. “Bucky?” He pushed his arm out from under the sheet and reached out.

Bucky could feel Carter’s gaze on him as he crossed the room, but he took Steve’s hand anyway.

“You here to yell at me for being so dumb?” Steve said.

“I’ll save that for later.” Bucky lifted his hand to smooth down the mess of Steve’s hair but remembered in time and steered his hand to grip the iron headboard instead. It left him leaning at an awkward angle.

“Though I would like to know who you were saving this time,” Bucky said. “Bus full of orphans and nuns?”

Steve let out a huff of air, too tired to laugh at the lame joke. “We were getting the prisoners out. Some were wounded, so I—”

“I know,” Bucky said, cutting Steve off. “Dugan told me. I guess I can’t get mad at you for that.” Bucky let his hand rest on top of Steve’s head, very briefly. Steve’s eyes fell closed. “Steve? How you feeling?”

“I feel great,” Steve said. He gave Bucky a small smile that quickly went fuzzy, though his grip on Bucky’s fingers was still strong. “They gave me a lot of medicine. A lot.”

“Yeah, the doc told me. Enjoy it while it lasts, buddy.”

Bucky tore his eyes away from Steve’s face and down over his body where the sheet had fallen away. There were abrasions all over his arm, shoulder, and chest, but a thick wad of bandages over his ribs covered the dangerous wound.

“Bucky.”

“Yeah?”

“You and Morita—”

“Yeah, we were late getting back. Sorry about that. We got stuck in the mud on the way back and had to dig out. But it went well. We got the job done.”

Steve’s head shifted in a slight nod, his eyes still closed.

“You get some rest,” Bucky said quietly. “Okay, pal?”

But Steve was already out. Bucky gently lowered Steve’s arm back onto the bed, then pulled the sheet up over his shoulder.

There was nothing else for Bucky to do. It would be better to leave now. He could get himself cleaned up. He should eat and sleep and be ready to come back bright and early tomorrow when Steve would be alert and getting restless. But Bucky didn’t want to go.

Carter’s heels clicked as she approached. She stopped somewhere behind Bucky so that he couldn’t see her, even out of the corner of his eye, but he knew she was there.

“Do you want to stay?” She said quietly. “I wish I could stay myself, but I have a million things to do. I could send the car back for you, if—”

“It’s okay.” Bucky was careful to keep his voice even. “I can always walk.” He realized he had no idea where they were—he hadn’t paid any attention to where they were going on the drive to the hospital. “Or take a cab.”

“All right then,” Carter said. “If you’re sure. Will you—?” She hesitated. “Will you let us know how he’s doing?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Bucky forced himself to turn and smile at her. “I’ll keep you posted.”

She nodded, then left without another word.

Bucky sat on the metal chair in the corner, but Steve didn’t wake up again before the nurses kicked Bucky out in the evening. 

*****

Bucky was back first thing in the morning, and by the time he’d sweet-talked the nurse at the front desk into letting him upstairs, Steve was wide awake and talking with the doctor. His color was better, and he was propped up on a bunch of pillows. Bucky slipped into the room and shut the door. Steve didn’t even glance in Bucky’s direction, but Bucky had no doubt Steve knew he was there.

“What puzzles me is the broken ribs on the _other_ side,” the doctor said. “The damage from the shrapnel was extensive but seemed to be limited to the right side. Did you fall after being hit? Is that how the ribs on the left were broken? But there’s no bruising there—perhaps your enhanced healing—”

Bucky couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore. “Those ribs were broken weeks ago.”

“Bucky,” Steve began, but Bucky ignored him.

“He fell off a goddamn bridge—or jumped right into it. That’s when he broke those ribs. They should have healed by now.”

The doctor was staring at Bucky, clearly wondering who the hell he was. But at least he was listening.

“When we first started, he was healing much better. He broke his arm on the second mission, and it was fine in less than a week.” Bucky felt like a kid in the schoolyard, tattling to the teacher, but it was a relief to get it off his chest. “But now, I guess things aren’t healing up so good.”

The doctor was nodding and scribbling notes on his clipboard. “Perhaps his enhanced healing was more pronounced several months ago? Could the effects—”

“No,” Steve interrupted. “Everything’s fine.”

He glared at Bucky, but Bucky just glared right back.

“Yeah, I don’t think the serum’s wearing off or anything like that,” Bucky said. “I think he’s just been pushing himself too hard. Wearing himself out.”

“Bucky—”

“No, Steve, you do. You never sleep. We barely get back from one mission before you’re planning the next one. You always divide up the food evenly—you gotta be _fair_ , even though you really need a bunch more than everybody else. That’s why you’re not healing. Those ribs should have knitted up by now.”

Steve didn’t answer. Bucky looked up at the doctor, who seemed bewildered by the turn of the conversation.

“Sorry, doc,” Bucky said. “We’ve known each other for a long time. I looked out for him when we were kids, back when he was a little guy. Old habits die hard.”

“Ah.” The doctor’s expression cleared now that Bucky’d given him a way to explain the tension between him and Steve other than the obvious one: a lover’s quarrel. “It seems to me there’s an easy solution then. I’ll simply prescribe rest for Captain Rogers. If you’re right, rest and good eating should take care of things. We’ll examine him again in a few days’ time, and if I don’t see encouraging progress, then we’ll start to think about further tests.”

Bucky looked at Steve, but his jaw was stubbornly set. He never liked it when doctors talked about him like he wasn’t there. So Bucky nodded and thanked the doctor, shaking his hand while he tried to subtly steer him toward the door.

“Do you think I could get him out of here?” Bucky asked. “You know how hospitals are. You’re supposed to be resting, but it’s hard to sleep.”

The doctor smiled. “Yes, of course. Well. . . .” He looked over Bucky’s shoulder at Steve, then lowered his voice. “I’d like to keep him for one more night, just to keep an eye on him. But if those shrapnel wounds are looking all right in the morning, I suppose I could release him.”

“Great, doc. Thanks a million.”

The rest of that day, Steve mostly gave Bucky the silent treatment, probably angry that he’d told the doctor so much. Bucky didn’t let it bother him, especially considering the fact that with no conversation and nothing else to keep him busy, Steve kept drifting off.

It gave Bucky a lot of time to think. He figured out a few things. When Steve woke up, they were going to have a long talk. 

*****

When the doctors finally let Steve out late the next day, Bucky led him outside and straight into a cab. Steve didn’t question it at first: London was a deranged rabbit warren of narrow, angled streets and blind corners, so taking a cab was just more efficient than trying to find their own way. But when the cab stopped in front of a white-columned hotel, Steve looked over at Bucky with a frown.

“What are we doing here, Buck?”

Bucky grabbed his hastily packed bag from the floor of the cab and climbed out. As Bucky paid the driver, Steve joined him on the sidewalk. Bucky turned and met Steve’s suspicious eyes. His chin tilted up—he was so damn stubborn. Bucky knew he had to manage this carefully, or Steve would dig in his heels.

“We’re gonna get a room and you’re going to sleep where it’s nice and quiet, where the bed is wider than you are for a change, and no one will come knocking on your door at the crack of dawn.”

Bucky watched Steve draw in breath to argue, so he started talking again—fast, before Steve could say a word.

“They’re going to bench you. Do you get that? They think you’re an experiment that’s going all wrong.” Bucky wasn’t even sure that was true, but he figured the threat of going back to doing nothing was the only thing that would make Steve pause. “You gotta get some rest. You gotta heal.”

Steve’s mouth snapped shut, but he was still frowning.

“It’s just for a day or two,” Bucky said quietly.

Finally, Steve nodded, and Bucky led the way into the lobby. Steve didn’t say a word to Bucky as they checked in and found their room, and even as he undressed for bed.

Once Steve was settled, Bucky pulled of his own uniform and crawled into the other bed.

“Bucky? Why are you—?”

Steve’s face was miserable as he cut himself off. Bucky longed to slip under the covers with Steve and wrap his arms around him, but if he did that, he’d never have the willpower to say everything he needed to say. They needed to clear the air, but first, Steve needed to rest.

“Get some sleep,” Bucky said

Steve rolled over to face the wall and was dead to the world in seconds. Bucky reached to turn off the lamp and tried to follow suit, but it took him a long time before he could sleep. 

*****

Steve woke up slowly. At first, finding himself in a bed—a real bed with clean sheets—without Bucky beside him, he figured he was in the hospital, but then he remembered the hotel. Bucky getting into the second bed. A sudden irrational alarm made him alert—what if Bucky had left? Steve propped himself on one elbow to look around the room.

Bucky sat in an armchair on the far side of the room, squinting to read by the dim light of a tiny lamp. Steve slumped back onto the pillows in relief and looked at the alarm clock on the little table between the beds. It was six thirty. There was no morning sun creeping in around the curtains. Another foggy day in London.

Bucky had tidied up the room: all of the things Steve had dumped on the floor when he undressed were folded neatly on top of the dresser. His spare uniform was hanging on a hook on the back of the door, the mud from the last mission cleaned off. Steve wondered if the one he’d been wearing when the shrapnel got him was beyond repair.

“Have you been sitting there the whole time I was sleeping?” His voice came out gruff.

Bucky looked up from his book. He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual open grin. Steve had really screwed up this time.

“You were asleep a hell of a long time.” Bucky stuck a finger in the book to mark his page and let his feet thump to the floor. “I had to head out for provisions.” Steve forced a grin. “Great, I’m starving. I guess I missed dinner.”

“And breakfast,” Bucky said. “And lunch and dinner again.”

“Wait, you mean it’s Thursday night?”

Bucky nodded and grabbed a tray of paper-wrapped sandwiches from the dresser. He set them on the bed next to Steve, then went back to his chair.

“You slept an entire day,” Bucky said. “I’m trying to be the bigger man here. Trying not to say I told you so.”

“That’s really big of you.” Steve tried to match Bucky’s tone—almost joking—but it bothered him how aloof Bucky seemed. “Thanks for the sandwiches though.”

It had been hard for Steve to say, but Bucky answered lightly, already turning his attention back to his book: “It was nothing. Now shut up and eat one.”

“And thanks for taking care of me,” Steve said with a little more force in his voice. “I thought you wouldn’t have to do that anymore.”

Bucky’s head snapped up, and he met Steve’s gaze for the first time since he woke up. He closed his book again and sighed. “I don’t mind it, Steve. I never have. I’ve been thinking maybe you wouldn’t even want me around anymore, reminding you of how things used to be.”

Steve had _liked_ the way things used to be. “But—”

“You should eat before we talk,” Bucky said, cutting him off.

“Talk about what?”

Bucky stared at his feet. “Eat first.”

Steve forced himself to unwrap a sandwich and take a big bite. He could feel Bucky’s eyes on him. The sooner he got something into his stomach, the sooner they’d get this over with. When Steve had finished one sandwich and started on a second, Bucky said, “How the ribs doing?”

Still holding half a sandwich in his left hand, Steve lifted his other arm, stretching his whole right side. “Not bad.” He probed at his ribs on both sides. “I guess I feel a lot better after some sleep.”

Steve choked down the rest of his sandwich and gathered his nerve. Before he could even open his mouth, Bucky gestured at the tray. “One more. C’mon, you didn’t eat anything for a whole day.”

With the thick knot of dread in his stomach, Steve thought more food might make him sick, but he grabbed another sandwich and chewed his way through it.

“There’s water on the table next to you,” Bucky said.

Steve took a couple of gulps to wash down the last mouthful then waited for Bucky to begin. But he didn’t. He just sat there in the armchair, not moving and not talking.

“C’mon, Buck, you’re killing me,” Steve choked out.

“I’m—?” Bucky shook his head. “That’s rich.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I just—” He wanted to get out of bed, or get Bucky to come sit with him. He hated that Bucky was so far away. “Please.”

Bucky’s lips were pressed tight together until he blurted out, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Steve froze, then everything burst out of him in a flood of panic. “But I’ve been better. I know I have. It’s not like it used to be. With kissing, and—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I thought you were talking about us. I mean, about. . . .”

“I guess I am, sort of,” Bucky said. “But to be honest, that’s the easy part. I know how to do that. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

Steve couldn’t fathom how Bucky was so brave—he said it so easily. What was wrong with Steve that he couldn’t say it too? Admitting how he felt, even in his own head—admitting how much he wanted Bucky, needed him—it felt like weakness. “I’ve gotten used to it though,” Bucky continued.

“Used to what?”

Bucky let out a huff of air. “When I get too close, you say it’s not like that. But it is for me. It _is_ like that, and I guess—” He stopped suddenly and jumped out of his chair to pace at the end of Steve’s bed. “I guess I gotta live with the fact that it’s not like that for you.”

“ _Bucky_ —”

“But I can’t put up with this bullshit.” Bucky spun around to fix his gaze on Steve. “You gotta accept that you are not indestructible. You need to heal. And you need to rest. If you can’t figure out how to be Captain America without wearing yourself down, without taking stupid risks for nothing, then I—” He hesitated before finishing in a rush: “I can’t stick around to watch.”

Steve threw the covers off and went to the foot of the bed, grabbing Bucky by his shoulders.

Bucky looked up at him, still glaring. “You think you’ve got something to prove, but—”

“I do.”

Bucky shook his head.

“No, Buck, I do.”

Bucky grimaced and tried to twist away from Steve’s hands, but he held him fast.

“C’mon, lemme explain,” Steve said. “Okay? Just listen for a minute.”

After another moment of struggle, Bucky pulled away from Steve’s grasp, but he didn’t go far. He sank onto the foot of the bed. Steve sat next to him. He wanted to take Bucky’s hand or touch his knee, but he checked the impulse.

“You know how much I wanted to fight,” Steve said. “I just wanted to be a regular soldier. Be assigned to the 107th like my dad. But they wouldn’t let me do that. So I did what I had to. To get over here. And now—” Steve put one hand on his chest, trying to sum up the feeling of being in the still-alien body. “Now I feel like everything I do has to be . . . _huge_. Just to live up to . . . I don’t know.”

Bucky was nodding now. He understood part of this, at least.

“No one thought I could do this,” Steve continued. “Phillips and the other brass. Even the Commandos—sometimes I think they came along just to see the freak show. Peggy was the only one who—”

Bucky’s face twisted into something bitter.

“Is this about Peggy? You don’t want me to—?” Steve trailed off. He had no idea where that sentence might lead. He felt simultaneously sorry to have mentioned Peggy’s name and angry. “After all the dames you’ve made time with over the years?”

“You know they didn’t mean anything,” Bucky protested.

“And I know you went with other fellas.”

There was a long silence after Steve said it. He was afraid he’d crossed some invisible line, but when Bucky responded, his voice was quiet.

“I admit I tried. Once. Just once. But I couldn’t go through with it. Couldn’t get you out of my damn head. You were always huge, in here.” He tapped his forehead with one finger. “And—” He lowered his hand to his chest, then dropped it with a roll of his eyes, as if disgusted with his own sappiness—or at least afraid that Steve would be. But then he gave Steve a wry smile. “No room for anyone else.”

Steve had never had room for anyone else either, though he’d never realized it until that moment. Before, he’d thought it was because girls wouldn’t give him the time of day, but the truth was, he’d never really cared much. Even after the serum, he’d gotten offers but hadn’t been tempted. He’d even told one of the USO dancers—a determined flirt—that he had someone back home so that she’d leave him alone.

Peggy was amazing, but maybe the best thing about her was that she was impossible to ignore. Steve liked that she noticed him, but what he really wanted was for Bucky to witness her interest. Part of him had always been afraid Bucky’d been with him out of pity, but seeing the fire in his eyes after Peggy left the tent that first night after Azzano had felt like validation: instead of being eager to dump Steve into the first willing pair of arms to come along, Bucky’d looked determined to keep him.

“I don’t know what to say.” Bucky’s voice came out in a whisper. “I guess it’s only fair—if you want to—”

Steve looked at Bucky’s face. He looked sick at the thought, but he was willing to stick with Steve even if he pursued Peggy?

“I don’t. I don’t, Buck. I’m sorry.” Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and twined their fingers together. It suddenly occurred to him that they’d never held hands before. “That’s not what any of this is about.”

Bucky nodded, and he squeezed Steve’s hand tightly. “Okay.”

Steve studied Bucky’s face, but it didn’t reflect relief. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, I’m—” He let out a frustrated huff. “We kind of took a detour there.”

“Yeah.”

“Not that I’m not glad to hear it.” His eyes darted to meet Steve’s, and he gave him a lightning-fast smile before his expression crumpled again. “The problem is, I can’t do this anymore.”

Bucky repeated the same words, but his tone was different now. He wasn’t angry anymore.

“I can’t watch you kill yourself, trying live up to some _fantasy_.” Bucky waved his hand at Steve’s uniform. “They had a whole bunch of ideas about what they wanted from you, from the serum. And when it didn’t go the way they planned, they gave up. _You_ made it happen. You don’t owe them anything. You know what’s important. You’re already—”

“That’s what I mean about having something to prove,” Steve insisted. “I need to prove that I can do it my way. The higher-ups don’t know what it’s like in the field, not against Hydra. And the guys—every one of them has more experience in the field than I do. So I do have a lot to prove.”

“But not to me.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky didn’t stop.

“Not to me, Steve. And I can’t do it anymore. I can’t stay if this is how it’s gonna be.”

Bucky was still holding Steve’s hand, and maybe that was why he didn’t panic at Bucky’s words. It was hard to believe that Bucky would break it off. But there was a grim resolve in the set of his jaw. Bucky meant what he said.

Steve clutched at Bucky’s hand in his. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Stop what?” Bucky said. “Stop saving the world? Or stop with me?”

“Neither,” Steve said. “Both.”

Bucky’s fingers tightened around Steve’s. “Even if things gotta change?”

“Yeah. Of course. But—” Steve took a deep breath. “Change how?”

“Well. . . .”

“C’mon, Buck.”

“Okay, okay. You gotta stop worrying about what the guys know every minute of the day. It’s just—”

“Bucky—”

“No, you don’t have to tell me what would happen if they spilled the beans. The fact is, they haven’t. If any of them know, they’re not saying anything. If you trust them—I mean, we trust them with our lives, all the time. If they’ve figured it out, and they’re not saying anything, not even to us, then can’t we trust them with this too?”

It wasn’t that Steve was worried about a blue discharge. He wouldn’t let himself even imagine that.

“You’re worried they think less of you?” Bucky asked “Because of this? Because of us? Well, that’s all part of it then. If you can’t handle the idea that they might know and might not like it, I can’t change that.” He stood up, pulling his hand away.

“Bucky, wait.” Steve stood up, but he didn’t try to touch Bucky, afraid that he’d avoid contact.

“But think about it, Steve. They’re still following you all over Europe. They’re still risking their necks, going along with every one of your crazy plans, so I don’t know what more you want. And I know you don’t want to play favorites, but lately you’re doing the opposite with me. It’s just as obvious, like you’re bending over backwards to avoid treating me special. But they know we’re friends, right? We can’t make them forget. And when you give me the shit assignments and order me around like you’ve been doing, it makes them all wonder why.”

Steve hadn’t thought of it like that. He’d been so careful to avoid drawing attention to how he felt about Bucky that he’d acted like a jerk. He’d been unfair to Bucky, who’d always treated Steve as an equal. In the bedroom, Bucky’d always let Steve be in charge without complaint, but then Steve had pulled rank out in the field, sending him off because he was afraid of letting the other guys see that Bucky cared about him. Driven by fear—afraid of being dismissed or not taken seriously—he’d been desperate for respect. Fear of weakness had turned him into a bully, and Bucky’d borne the brunt of it.

“I’m sorry.” Steve knew the apology was woefully inadequate, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I guess it’s all gotten mixed up in my head—wanting to be better for you and for everything else—as Captain America, I mean. I want to show that I can do it. That I can do everything.”

“I hate to break it to you, pal, but you can’t.”

It felt like a slap in the face, but Bucky soothed the sting of it with a hand on Steve’s arm.

“Nobody can, supersoldier serum or no. Nobody can win this war on his own. And some people are jerks who are going to look at you sideways because of the serum, but not the people who matter. You don’t have to prove yourself to me, or the guys. Or Carter or Phillips.”

Bucky grimaced—clearly he didn’t like bringing up Peggy again, but he pushed on. “You can’t do it all,” Bucky said again. “So that’s why you gotta let me take care of you sometimes. Maybe listen when I tell you you’re about to do something crazy.”

Steve looked at Bucky. His handsome face. His beautiful eyes under eyebrows knit together in concern. His hand slid over Steve’s shoulder and up to his neck.

“You have been better. With me, I mean. With us. Don’t think I haven’t seen it. And I love it.”

“Yeah?” Steve felt a ray of hope. Bucky wasn’t giving up on him yet.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s expression softened. “I kinda like kissing you. I don’t know if you noticed.”

“I picked up on that, yeah.” Steve put one hand on Bucky’s hip. The ray of hope was drowned in a bright beam of happiness when Bucky tilted up his chin to be kissed. Steve bent his head—just a gentle press of lips—then rested his forehead against Bucky’s. “I like it too.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah? I knew you would.” His expression grew serious. “You think we can make it work?”

Steve kissed him again, not gentle this time, plunging his tongue between Bucky’s lips. When he lifted his head, Bucky was breathless. “Is that a yes?” Bucky said. “Or are you kissing me goodbye?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Steve growled before kissing him again.

“I just wanna be clear,” Bucky said when their lips parted. “Perfectly clear. You’re on board with all the stuff I said? Especially the not getting yourself killed part?” His tone was teasing, but Steve knew he meant every word.

Steve pulled away—in itself a challenge when it meant his hardening dick was straining against empty air instead of Bucky’s warm thigh—and looked Bucky straight in the eye. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”

Bucky started laughing. Steve would have been hurt, but Bucky was also pressing close and letting Steve push against his leg again. “Sorry,” Bucky said, still panting with laughter. “Sorry, I—” He laughed again.

“I was being sincere,” Steve said.

“I know.”

“But you’re making fun of me?”

Bucky gave Steve his most charming grin. “Only cause I love you.”

It was the perfect moment. All Steve had to do was say it: _I love you too_. But he couldn’t. Bucky’s smile didn’t dim—maybe he was just too accustomed to disappointment for it to register.

“I just got the feeling I was suddenly in a hotel room with Captain America instead of dumb old Steve Rogers,” Bucky said.

There had to be a way to make him understand what was inside Steve’s head, but he was already pulling away. The moment was gone.

Bucky grabbed the tray and moved it to the dresser. “At least we won’t have to go out for breakfast.”

“Don’t they have room service?” Steve asked. “I thought this was a nice hotel.”

Bucky threw himself onto Steve’s bed. “That would be a frivolous use of government funds, Captain.”

“The army’s paying for this?”

Bucky shrugged. “The SSR, I think.”

“But that’s—”

“Hey, the doctor prescribed rest. Everyone knows you won’t get that in the barracks, and they want you back in the field, so they’re footing the bill.” Bucky, reclining on the pillows, looked at Steve expectantly. “You really want to spend your R&R talking economics? When right here, waiting for you, there’s a really comfortable bed and . . . well, me?”

“No.” Steve crawled up to the head of the bed for a kiss. “You really want to spend your R&R wearing so many clothes?”

Bucky laughed, surprise written all over his face. It was obvious that he liked the playfulness though, and Steve realized this was something he’d been missing out on: Bucky liked to laugh and flirt. Steve had never been any good at that with girls—maybe because it felt like a lie—but he and Bucky had always teased each other. He knew how to do this with Bucky. Before, Steve had been so busy trying to rein everything in—fear and expectations—they’d barely talked to each other when they were fooling around.

Shoving Steve away, Bucky struggled to unbutton his shirt, then tossed it on the floor.

Steve knelt on the mattress and started to lift the hem of the undershirt he’d slept in, but then he let it drop. “Oh, but wait—you _like_ clothes, right? You want me to put on the uniform?”

Bucky grinned, gazing at Steve through hooded eyes. “Maybe next time,” he said. “For now, I’ll stick with dumb old Steve Rogers.” He sat up enough to hook a finger into the waistband of Steve’s boxers and gave a yank. There wasn’t really enough force behind it to pull Steve down, but he let himself fall, landing on top of Bucky, who grunted at the weight.

Steve pressed his face against Bucky’s neck and breathed deep. “You smell good.”

“Yeah, I took a shower while you were zonked out. You should try it sometime.”

Startled, Steve pushed up with both hands. “Do I stink? Jeez, why didn’t you say something?” He couldn’t move to either side because Bucky had both arms wrapped around his neck. When he wrestled to get away, Bucky wrapped both legs around him too.

“Cut it out. You’re fine. I was only kidding. No shower—you shouldn’t get your bandages wet.” A sudden look of horror spread over Bucky’s face. “Steve, your bandages. Should you even be doing this?”

“I’m fine.” Steve tried to kiss Bucky’s neck, but Bucky squirmed out from underneath him to sit on the edge of the bed, his cheeks red and his hair a mess, glaring.

“I mean it. Look.” Steve lifted his shirt and started unwinding the bandages wrapped around his ribcage. Bucky winced at the sight. “It doesn’t hurt, Buck. Honest. You were right—I just needed rest.”

Bucky watched like a hawk as Steve took the dressing off his shrapnel wound. The bruising around it was much lighter, and though the black thread of the stitches stuck out like the thick borders of a cartoon character, the surface wound was closed up—it looked weeks old, by normal standards. Bucky nodded in approval, then stretched out one hand and pressed his palm to Steve’s side, gently at first, then with more force, studying Steve’s face to gauge his reaction.

“See?” Steve said. “All better.”

Bucky’s lips were still an unhappy line in his flushed face.

“Really, I’m fine.” Steve rolled up the tangle of bandages and dumped them onto the floor at the foot of the bed. He’d clean it up later. “Do you really think I’m going to be so bad at the new rules that I’d break one this soon?”

“They’re not rules,” Bucky said.

Steve gave Bucky a look. “Whatever you say, pal.”

Bucky looked sheepish, though he wore a small, crooked unrepentant smile.

“I listened to you,” Steve continued. “I let you take care of me, and now I’m better. That’s how it’s going to work now, right?”

“If you’d listened to me in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened. I would have been there, not stuck out in the woods with Morita.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand. “I thought you weren’t going to say I told you so?”

Bucky made a face, but he sighed and resettled himself on the bed. “C’mere.”

As Steve climbed over Bucky to straddle his legs, Bucky pulled him down for a kiss, and their hips came together. Steve thrust into the pressure, let out a loud groan, and winced at the noise.

“You can make all the noise you want,” Bucky murmured in Steve’s ear. “This place must be built like a bunker.”

“Yeah?” Steve rocked his hips into Bucky’s.

“Yeah. I haven’t heard anything from the hall all day.” Bucky stuck one hand down the back of Steve’s shorts to grab his ass. “Nothing from next door either, and I saw the guy staying in that room last night—with a nose like that he’s gotta snore.”

Steve stopped moving and lifted his head to peer into Bucky’s face. “That’s not actually something I want to picture right now.”

Bucky laughed and kissed him. “Sorry about that. How about you picture this instead?” He unwrapped his limbs from Steve’s body and nudged him away to peel off the rest of his clothes. “Better?”

“Much.” Steve let his eyes roam over Bucky’s frame—another thing he’d rarely allowed himself to do. He’d been too worried about looking like a lovesick fool. Maybe he looked like that now, but Bucky sure didn’t seem to mind. He grinned up at Steve and said, “Your turn.”

“My—?” Steve’s gaze had wandered down Bucky’s body to his dick, fully erect and flushed dark pink. “My turn?” Rather than answer, Bucky sat up and tugged at Steve’s boxers, pulling them down to his thighs. Steve shoved them down to his knees, crawled out of them, and tossed them off the bed. He pulled off his undershirt, pinned Bucky’s hips to the bed with both hands, and lunged forward to suck Bucky’s dick down as deep as he could take it.

Bucky breath caught, and he held it for a long time before releasing it in a torrent of babbling encouragement. “God, that’s good. Yes, yes, like—yeah, Steve. Oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s—” Steve kept it up, bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks until he drove Bucky right to the edge. Then he stopped, pulling off abruptly and making Bucky growl in frustration.

“Don’t finish yet,” Steve whispered. He lowered his head for another leisurely swipe with his tongue, then teased at the tip, knowing the light touches would make Bucky nuts when he’d been so close.

“You’re a heartless bastard,” Bucky groaned. “We’ve got all night. Couldn’t you just—?”

“Just what?”

“Suck me again.” Bucky’s fingers carded through Steve’s hair. “I was close. I’ll get hard again, if you want me to fuck you.”

Steve stifled his laugh again Bucky’s thigh. “You say the sweetest things.” He gave Bucky’s dick one last hard suck, then shifted higher on the bed for a kiss. “Like you said, we’ve got all night. We can take our time for once, so what’s the rush?”

Bucky opened his eyes halfway and gave Steve a devilish smile before shoving him onto his side and grabbing his dick.

“The rush—” He broke off for a kiss before continuing. “The rush is that I’ve been sitting here all damn day watching you sleep and wishing I could just jump on you rather than having to wait, and _talk_ , and worry about your stupid ribs.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know. I’m not worried about that anymore, so now I’m in a rush.”

Bucky’s hand slid up and down faster, and Steve moaned. It was loud enough that he opened his eyes and looked around. “Are you sure nobody can hear us?”

Bucky let out a frustrated huff, and his hand stilled. “If you want to go out in the hall and test it, be my guest, but I’d rather stay here in bed. Naked. I guess I can stay in here and make noise by myself, but I’d rather—”

“ _Okay_ ,” Steve said. He wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s to get them moving again. “Shut up now.”

“We don’t have to shut up. That’s the whole point.”

Steve stopped Bucky’s chatter with a kiss, though he kind of liked it. Bucky started pumping his hand in earnest, tightening with each upstroke.

“God, that’s good.” Steve closed his eyes and let his hips twitch into Bucky’s fist. “Bucky.” Bucky’s hand felt so good—he knew just what Steve liked, slowing down to rub his thumb over the slit now and then. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. I do.”

“C’mon, Steve, you can’t say it _now_.”

Steve’s eyes sprung open. “What?”

“You can’t believe anything a guy says when you’ve got your hand on his dick.”

Steve laughed in spite of his dismay: he’d finally gotten up the courage, and Bucky was joking around? But then Steve looked at Bucky’s face—really looked at him. He wasn’t kidding.

“Bucky.” Steve pulled Bucky’s hand away from his crotch and held it firmly in his. “I’m sorry I ever said it’s not like that.”

Lowering his chin, Bucky tried to look away, but Steve ducked his head to maintain eye contact. “It _is_ like that.”

Bucky reached up to cradle Steve’s jaw with one hand, and Steve knew he was headed for a kiss, but he wanted to finish, so he held Bucky’s gaze.

“I think I was afraid you’d get sick of looking out for me,” Steve said slowly. “Sick of taking care of me. And I thought if I didn’t need that anymore, you’d never get tired of me.”

Bucky’s face shifted through several expressions, like a dozen different arguments were spinning in his head. When he finally spoke, he said, “Who’s being an idiot now?”

He kissed Steve then, and Steve happily let him do it. His lips trailed down Steve’s neck, stopping to tease at his right nipple before moving down to lick along the length of Steve’s dick.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped. “Bucky, wait. I was gonna—”

Bucky took the tip into his mouth and sucked hard.

Steve groaned but tried again. “I was going to do that to _you_.”

“Ssshh, you gotta let me take care of you,” Bucky said. His breath ghosted over Steve’s dick, making it jerk up. “You promised.”  

 

The End


End file.
